


Fatherhood

by ebbj9891



Series: In Quest Of Something [27]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Fluff, M/M, POV Brian Kinney, POV Daphne Chanders, POV Jennifer Taylor, POV Justin Taylor, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Post-Series, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 19:17:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2036847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebbj9891/pseuds/ebbj9891
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gus asks Justin to be his father, Justin is stunned, delighted, and terrified. Although everyone else seems entirely confident in his parenting abilities, Justin has trouble believing he's ready or right for the part. This story explores Justin's first few months of fatherhood and his evolving father/son relationship with Gus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Daphne

**Author's Note:**

> This follows on from Saccharine Nightmare. Originally I had planned to finish that story with an epilogue but then the epilogue grew and grew and grew until it was longer than all of the other chapters combined! So I decided to turn it into this. Be warned, this might end up being rather lengthy. Hope you enjoy :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin receives a very important letter from Gus that takes him by surprise. Fortunately, Daphne's visiting, and she's more than happy to offer Justin support and encouragement.

When Justin first announced he was moving to New York, I threatened to kill him with my bare hands. Despite what he may claim, that was  _so_ not an overreaction. It felt like I was about to lose him - Justin, my best friend! Best friends aren't supposed to have hundreds of miles separating them. It's simply unnatural.

I had hoped my violent threats would deter him, but they didn't. In that very determined way of his, Justin left for New York, abandoning me and everyone else. At first, it sucked. Pittsburgh felt empty without Justin in it. His rare texts and emails were a shitty substitute for his actual company, especially given how threadbare they were. The first one I ever received proved to be a perfect template for the rest:  _Hey Daph. How are things? I've been painting all day and waiting tables all night. I miss you like crazy. Check in on Brian for me? Love you lots._ Very sweet, somewhat comforting, but not even close to good enough. They would pop up at the most random hours and I would stare at them, searching for some sense of my best friend in them. But reading some abridged version of Justin's day proved very different to actually hearing about it, face to face. And so Pittsburgh felt emptier and emptier.

Then the care packages started, joined by letters. Proper letters! Letters that spanned pages and pages, and which were filled with actual information about how he was going, and photos as well. That was better. That was  _brilliant._ Plus, the care packages? Amazing. They were filled with sketches on napkins, mostly of the weird bar patrons Justin was serving from night to night. There were things for me to deliver to Jennifer and Brian, both of whom lit up every time I arrived with more goodies from Justin. And there were presents for me, trinkets and treats carefully sourced from all over the city. And so I discovered a shiny, silver lining - Justin could bring New York to me. 

Then, suddenly, the care packages stopped. They always arrived on Fridays, and I came to count on those Fridays. But out of nowhere, I arrived home from work with nothing waiting for me except a single envelope, which felt suspiciously light. Inside was a card, hand-illustrated by Justin with a picture of the Empire State Building. Inside was a very brief message written inside in big, boasting letters:  _I made my first commission!! Someone paid actual money for my art, can you believe it?? Come visit?_ Clipped to the back of the card was a flight voucher. And so I discovered an even shinier silver lining - an excuse to visit New York.

So I started visiting every so often on weekends, and it was better than any text or email or care package. It felt like having my best friend back, even if we only got to see each other once a month or so. It was also great to visit and find Justin so...  _Justin._ Like a fuller, happier version of himself. Visiting New York became my favourite way to spend a weekend, especially after Brian moved there to be with Justin. I'd thought Justin had become a fuller, happier version of himself when he was in New York alone, but when Brian joined him? Wow. That was something else.

It's been over two years now since Justin moved, and I can say with confidence that my murderous urges have well and truly faded. I still miss him, but we've both gotten better at bridging the gap. He visits Pittsburgh more often, and I visit New York as much as I can, and we fill the blanks with proper phone calls. I send him a care package every second Monday, and his arrive every second Friday. It's working nicely, this system we've set up. Pittsburgh doesn't feel empty anymore. And being separated by hundreds of miles? Not so unnatural, after all.

This weekend brings the promise of another visit. I board a midday flight and arrive at JFK in the early afternoon, preparing myself to be crushed in a hug by Justin as tradition dictates. Instead, I'm met by Brian, who kindly hugs me without suffocating me. He takes my bags and explains, "Justin texted me and said he couldn't make it on time. Something important came up at home, apparently."

"I would have caught a cab," I say apologetically. "You didn't have to come out all this way to collect me."

"And leave you waiting in line with all of those... commoners?" Brian wrinkles his nose at the crowd of passengers lining up outside. He touches my chin and says, "You're far too good for that. You look exquisite, by the way."

"Shut up," I laugh. Still, he flirts with me all the way home.

When we get to the apartment, I expect Justin to come flying to meet me out on the street, or maybe in the hallway, but he's nowhere to be seen. Brian lets us inside and the entire apartment is dead silent. He frowns and calls out to Justin, but there's no response.

We finally find him in the living room. Justin is sitting on the edge of the coffee table, clutching a bundle of papers to his chest. He looks catatonic. As we approach him, Brian snaps his fingers in front of Justin's face. "Earth to Sunshine? Your former lover has arrived."

I whack Brian with my handbag, then complain to Justin, "He won't stop calling me that!" 

Brian grins evilly at me. Justin looks up at us, but it kind of seems like he's not really seeing either one of us. He looks kind of dazed. The smug look on Brian's face quickly falls away. "What's wrong?"

Justin glances down at the pages he's clutching and slowly relinquishes his choke-hold on them, handing them to Brian. "Did you do this?"

Brian takes one look at it and scoffs. "Uh, I know 'family' isn't spelled with two m's or an i and an e at the end. I also haven't written in crayon in the last three decades."

Justin smacks him on the arm and snaps, "It's from Gus, you asshole."

Brian leafs through the colourful pages, leaning in towards me so I can see. He clears his throat and begins reading out loud: " _Dear Justin - how are you? Moms said to say we're all well. I am looking forward to seeing you at Christmastime. At school we are writing our Christmas wishlists for Santa. My number one wish is for you to be my dad. Moms say you are family and that you are daddy's partner and the person he loves. You are also my best friend except for Ruby, but I would like you to be my dad too. It would be really cool to have two moms and two dads. I love you very much and would be a good son, I promise. Will you let me know if the answer is yes? Also, will you spend next Father's Day with me? I'll buy you something nice. Please give daddy a kiss from me and a hug too. Love forever - Gussy."_

Oh my god. This is officially the most adorable thing ever and I am just about ready to burst into tears. Brian glances at me and smiles, then silently hands me a handkerchief from his pocket. I thank him quietly and dab at my damp eyes, fighting the urge to sob. It's a lucky thing Gus sent a letter - if he'd done this in person, I'd be a wreck right now. Then I'd probably squish him to death with hugs.

Brian flicks through the rest of the bundle of pages, passing them to me one by one. "Then there's six different drawings of the two of you and three full pages of x's and o's. Front and back."

"In glittery rainbow crayons, no less," I point out, admiring Gus' handiwork. I swallow, fighting the lump in my throat. "Justin, do you remember when I had a set of those? In like, fourth grade? You were obsessed with them."

I nudge Brian and add, "He's never admitted it, but I  _know_ he stole like... at least six of them."

"Bad boy," Brian reprimands, idly tracing the x's and o's scrawled all over a bright yellow page. "I'll have to give you a spanking."

When this isn't met with some equally lascivious response, we both glance worriedly at Justin. Quite gently, Brian inquires, "You okay?"

Justin has his hands balled up in fists and pressed to his mouth. Uh oh. He blinks and mumbles through them, "Did you put him up to this?"

"No," Brian says, quite firmly. "Linz and Mel and I have talked about it, but we planned on leaving it up to Gus. If he's asking it's because he wants to, not because any of us 'put him up to it'."

"So he... he wants me to be his dad?"

Brian nods. Justin sighs sharply and runs his hands through his hair. "Do you want me to be his dad?"

"More than anything," Brian says, his gaze impossibly tender. "Sonny Boy deserves the best - that's you."

"Okay," Justin swallows and takes the letter from me. He sits back down on the edge of the coffee table and stares at the page on top, which is Gus' illustration of them at the zoo, which seems to have included some creative license if the pink giraffe and rainbow tiger are anything to go by. I remember Justin telling me about that day and calling it one of the best of his life. It looks like Gus feels the same way. Following the curling line of the monkey's tail with the tip of his finger, Justin mumbles,  "Okay, that's... okay."

I can see he's having trouble processing this. His voice keeps trembling and he looks a little pale. I touch his shoulder gently and say, "You'd be a great dad."

"You would," Brian agrees, watching Justin intently. "You're amazing with him."

"He wants me to be his dad," Justin echoes. He glances at Brian, then at me. His gaze bounces back and forth between us. "I'm a dad."

Brian smiles. "So that's a yes?"

"Of course it's a yes!"

He and Brian both move at once, lunging together in a death-grip hug. Justin buries his face in Brian's shoulder and mumbles something unintelligible. Brian grins and says, "I love you, too."

Then he spins Justin around, and laughter bubbles out of Justin. My heart grows about three sizes - they are just the  _sweetest._

Finally, Brian sets Justin down. They grin at each other for a moment, ecstatic. Then Justin snaps into serious mode and gives Brian a look. "My first act as Gus' dad is to order you to stop making fun of his spelling."

"I wasn't making fun," Brian says innocently. "I was merely making observations."

"Asshole." 

"I believe our son told you to give me a kiss? Stop stalling."

I wonder if Brian catches the look on Justin's face at the words 'our kid'. He lights up, his eyes bright and brimming with emotion. It's only visible for a moment before Justin grabs Brian and kisses him, so if Brian did see it he'll probably have forgotten it by now. I don't think I ever will though - I've never seen Justin that happy. I've never seen  _anyone_ that happy. 

I'm so distracted in my quest to commit Justin's unprecedented happiness to memory that I barely notice them separate, which means I'm not at all prepared for Justin diving at me and swallowing me in a hug. He actually lifts me up off the ground for a moment. "I'm a dad, Daph!"

"Congratulations!"

"Maybe you should call Sonny Boy and let him know," Brian suggests. "Or at least let Daphne go before you cut off her oxygen."

"Sorry," Justin says, releasing me quickly. "I'm going to call him right now. Be right back."

*

Of course, he isn't right back. Justin disappears for hours, and fair enough - I don't think there's any quick way to tell a kid you want to be his dad. It's a big conversation to have, that's for sure. By the time he's off the phone, I've unpacked and Brian and I have had time for dinner, dessert, and a lot of drinks.  _It's not really a vacation otherwise,_ Brian insists, and continues topping up my glass. He also continues flirting with me shamelessly, which I don't half mind. Then he gives me a tour of the apartment, which has changed a lot since they first moved in. It was nice then, if not a little scarce, but now it's fully furnished and brimming with life. Brian makes a big deal out of pointing out all of Justin's homely touches, referring to him more than once as 'Suzy Homemaker' with equal parts derision and affection. I nudge him and say, "Admit it - that's why you picked him up to begin with."

"Of course," he snarks. "That first night I saw him on Liberty Avenue, all I could think was -  _that boy will make an excellent housewife one day."_

"It's a beautiful place you have here."

Brian smiles gratefully. "You should go tell Sunshine that - I think I heard him sneak out the front door. He's probably smoking up a storm outside."

Smoking up a storm is right. When I find Justin sitting outside on the stoop, he's almost obscured by a cloud of smoke. He doesn't notice me at first; he's just staring into space. I greet him gently and he rouses, smiling at me a little. I touch his shoulder and ask, "Mind if I join you?"

"Of course not. Jeez, Daph, I'm sorry," he takes a long drag, then exhales a huge breathful of smoke. I breathe it in, having missed it since I quit a few years ago. "I had all this great stuff planned for tonight and instead I've abandoned you."

"Don't be so dramatic. We have all weekend." I take the cigarette from him and extinguish it pointedly. "At least we should, unless you die of lung cancer first."

"Now who's being dramatic?" Justin laughs and puts his lighter back in his pocket. He hands me the pack of cigarettes. "Wanna confiscate them?"

I tuck them safely into my pocket. "You shouldn't be smoking anymore. Especially not if you're a dad."

"Brian smokes," he grumbles.

"Two gross wrongs don't make a right," I nudge his side. "So... you okay?"

"I don't know." He sidles up closer to me and takes my hand. "I sat there for two hours with that letter before you guys showed up. I'm glad you weren't there to see it - after I realised I was definitely reading what I thought I was reading, I burst into tears and cried for, like, an hour."

"Good tears?"

"Good tears," he confirms, nodding heartily. "But a lot of them. It was so overwhelming."

"And how do you feel now?"

"I feel dizzy," he laughs shakily. "Good dizzy, I guess. I don't know. I want this more than anything, but it's..."

"Huge?"

"So huge!"

Poor Justin. He looks absolutely terrified. I burrow in close to him and say softly, "You'll be okay. You'll be a wonderful dad."

"You really think so?"

"Brian says you already are. He told me all about how good you are with Gus. He said Mel and Linz think you're amazing."

He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly to steady himself. "I'm just so fucking scared."

"Every parent gets scared, I bet."

"Yeah, I guess." Justin sighs and glances at my pocket, clearly longing for another cigarette.

I shake my head solemnly at him. "No more smoking. I'm flushing all of these."

He pulls a face, but still snuggles close and rests his head on my shoulder. I kiss his forehead and he smiles. "You'll be Aunty Daphne."

"For real?"

"Hell yeah. Gus deserves an aunty like you." Justin squeezes my hand. "And I'll need all the help I can get."

"You're going to be incredible," I promise him, meaning it. "Gus is so lucky to have you in his life. You're amazing."

"Thanks." He lifts his head and looks at me, eyes soft and just a little bit sad. "I've missed you so much, Daph."

"I've missed you too."

Okay, so being this far apart is still pretty unnatural. I think if we stayed in this moment, we'd both end up in tears. But instead of succumbing to needless nostalgia, Justin jumps to his feet and helps me up. "Enough of this. I had all this amazing shit planned for tonight. We're so not going to sit here angsting all night. Let's go!"

"Okay," I agree happily. "Let's." 


	2. Brian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian does his best to reassure Justin that he's right for the part.

At some impossible pre-dawn hour, Justin and Daphne return home. I awake to the sound of them whispering in the hallway, and the seriousness of it keeps me from going back to sleep. It's unintelligible, for the most part, until Daphne whisper-shouts, "Stop it! You're going to be wonderful."

He whispers something in return which, as far as I can tell, sounds less than confident. The possibility of going back to sleep creeps further and further away. It vanishes completely as Justin enters the bedroom, the scent of smoke and liquor all over him. He approaches quietly, probably believing me to be asleep since I don't yet have the energy to open my eyes. The bed sinks underneath his weight, the mattress dipping and shifting as he sidles up next to me.

"Brian?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you awake?"

"I am now." I muster enough energy to open one eye. Justin smiles apologetically at me as he slips out of his jacket. "Have fun?"

"Yeah," he says, sitting cross-legged next to me. He reaches over to stroke my arm. "We went to that bar you like in the Village, then we went dancing. It was great."

"Great," I echo. Justin traces his fingers from my elbow to my wrist in long, lazy strokes. He looks at me shyly; I can sense he wants to say something, and he either can't find the words or he's holding back. I roll onto my side and study him for a while, then ask, "You okay?"

His mouth quirks into a tiny smile, and he shakes his head; it's not a no, it's just utter disbelief.

"I'm a dad," he says, laughing softly. "I'm a _dad_."

"Only if you want to be." I nudge him with my knee. "It's okay if you don't want this."

"Of course I want to be," he insists. His hand moves to my side and he caresses my hip, watching the path he's making with a soft gaze. "It just took me by surprise, is all. When did you all start thinking about this?"

"I started thinking about it when we moved in here."

His fingers still on my hip. "Like when you told me you didn't want any more kids?"

I nod. Justin frowns slightly. "You never mentioned this, though. We had all those conversations about what our relationship would be like..."

"I wanted to leave it up to Gus. It's his choice, after all."

"You thought he might say no?"

"Not exactly. We all thought he'd say yes, but he is my son, and there's Kinney blood running through his veins. As such, he's bound to be a tad unpredictable from time to time."

Justin laughs and moves closer to me, his fingers resuming their delicate caress up and down my side. "And you and Linz and Mel... you're all really sure?"

"Why wouldn't we be?"

"I don't know," he murmurs, looking away. I get the feeling he does know, but I'm not going to push him right now. He seems pretty fragile, and fair enough - I was a catastrophic mess of uncertainty from the moment Lindsay asked me to father her child. There are still moments aplenty where I feel like I'm scrabbling to find solid ground . I expect Justin might feel like he's in freefall at the moment - I wouldn't be surprised if he feels that way for a while yet. Still, I don't want him to crash-land. I grab his hand and pull him down to lie next to me, hooking my leg over his. His lips curve into a small smile; it's a flash of warm light in this dark room.

"You know how important he is to us," I say, weaving my fingers through his hair. "Do you really think we'd make a decision like this lightly? We thought about it. We talked about it at length. We know you're right for the part. I mean, after that trip, we'd have been insane not to vote for you."

"So Disneyland was a test?" He sounds hurt. 

"No, Disneyland was a holiday. You just happened to blow us all away with your parenting abilities, that's all." I pull a face. "It was also a goddamned nightmare from which I have yet to recover-"

"You loved it," Justin says, grinning with immense self-satisfaction. "I know you loved it."

"If that's what you have to tell yourself to be able to sleep at night..." He thumps my arm. I move in closer to him and remind him, "Gus loves you. Mel and Linz love you. I... like you well enough."

He laughs. "You _like me well enough_?" 

I shrug. "I mean, you're okay, I guess. When we took an official vote, I graded you four out of ten."

"Four?! Four out of- you are such an asshole."

"Maybe four and a half." I grab his hips and pull him more snugly against me. "Take off your shirt and you might make it to five."

"Fuck you," he says, grinning. Then his mouth twists, and he asks quietly, "What do you think Gus would grade me?"

"I don't think he understands fractions yet."

He thumps me again. "Seriously."

"I think he'd give you ten out of ten and a slew of gold stars. You saw that letter. Three full pages of x's and o's, front and back. He called you his best friend, for fuck's sake."

"But 'best friend' isn't the same as 'dad'," he muses, chewing on his lower lip.

"Sometimes it's better. Who's more meaningful to you - your asswipe father, or Daphne?"

"Daph," he says adoringly, grinning. "But I don't know if she could have raised me."

"I'd trust her over your sack of shit father." I pause momentarily. "Not that I would ever be cruel enough to lump Daphne with such a challenging task. Your poor mother has told me all about the suffering you put her through, you little brat."

"Please stop gossiping with my mother," he groans. "You two are insufferable. Wait, does this mean she'll be Gus' grandmother?"

"She'll probably have to fight my mother and Lindsay's mother for the role. God knows they're ever so invested in Gus' life," I drawl bitterly - the mere thought of those two has left a bad taste in my mouth. As Justin presses a comforting kiss to my temple, I murmur, "Like I said before, he deserves the best. I don't think he could ask for better than you and your mother."

Justin blushes a little and smiles to himself, but I'm still not sure he's convinced. In fairness, that might take a while. If I'm anything to go by, it could be a very long while indeed. But he's always been so relentlessly supportive of me and my parenting, so I'm not going to let up. No matter how long it takes - whether it's weeks, months, or years - I'm going to keep on him until he's as sure as sure can be, and return all the encouragement he's so generously offered me.

"Here, look at this." I roll over and reach for my nightstand, where I keep Gus' holiday scrapbook. Sitting up, I pull Justin close to me and flick through it. "You are front and center in every drawing. The kid adores you."

"That's a whole lot of yellow crayon," he observes, smiling. 

"He's trying to tell you to grow your hair out again. He must know I like having something to grab onto."

"Ew," Justin cries. "Don't drag poor Gus into your perversions."

He turns the page, then says slyly, "Besides, you didn't just like having it to grab onto. You liked playing with it, stroking it-"

"That can be said about a lot of things." I grab his cock through his jeans.

Justin laughs and shifts, displacing my hand. With a trace of guilt warping his smile, he says, "Sorry, I'm kind of tired."

"Come here," I urge, and he lies down, arranging himself neatly in my arms. I tug the blanket over him and press my chest to his back. Justin sighs and guides my arms around him.

"Brian?"

"Yeah?"

He's silent for a long while, and very still, too. I pull him deeper into my embrace and he sighs contentedly. He takes my hand in his and presses a kiss to the inside of my wrist. Then, so softly that I almost miss it, he whispers, "Thank you."


	3. Jennifer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's one month later, and everyone has arranged to meet up in Pittsburgh. As the family reunites, Jennifer gets used to seeing Justin as a father to Gus.

It started with Gus' bedroom, according to Brian. As we sit together watching Justin and Gus play together, building a skyscraper out of Legos, Brian tells me all about how this began. He does so while keeping his gaze pinned lovingly to Gus, picking up the coloured bricks and inspecting them carefully, turning them over and over in his tiny hands, connecting them with the most delicate of touches, his eyes wide and curious. It reminds me of Justin, when he was small, and the many hours I spent watching him play; the way his hands, once similarly tiny, would go searching in the sandpit for buried treasure, how they would clutch at the chains on our swing-set as he soared back and forth, laughing, or how he would grasp at pencils and press them to blank pages with fervor. He was my baby. He still is, of course - he always will be, no matter how much he might protest - but now he's all grown up with a child of his own.

As Brian and I watch them play together, I have no doubt that's what Gus is. He's Justin's son. It's as clear as day. The two of them fit together perfectly, like matching puzzle pieces.  It's hard to believe they've only been father and son for a month, they look so close.

That's not to say it didn't take me by surprise. It did. To some extent, I'm still reeling. This is largely because Justin and Brian are, apparently, entirely incapable of delivering news conventionally. When they showed up in Pittsburgh two weeks ago, they announced they had something to tell me. This very serious conversation began with Justin informing me that "we're not going to be having children together" (at which point my heart stopped) and _very_ gradually progressed to "Gus has asked me to be his dad" (at which point I felt rather like I'd suffered severe whiplash). Then, after I'd finished admonishing them for being attention-seeking smartasses, Brian asked if I'd consider being Gus' grandmother. Well, that more than made up for their atrocious delivery of such important news. Three days ago, Gus arrived in Pittsburgh with Mel, Lindsay, and J.R. After flying into Brian's arms at the airport, after smothering Justin with hugs, he threw himself on me and said, "Hi, Nanna Jen."

Nanna Jen. Just like that. Lindsay says he needs me - that his other grandparents aren't part of the picture, for one reason or another. So it's me and Deb holding down the fort. Nanna Deb and Nanna Jen. I have, admittedly, experienced a few moments of doubt about whether Gus really wanted me as a grandparent. Maybe I was presented as part of a package deal when he chose Justin as his father. But what I have discovered over the last few days is that this is a little boy who is full of love. Gus has clearly embraced the idea of Justin as his dad with everything he's got, and he's equally enthusiastic about myself, and his aunties Molly and Daphne, too. My doubts have vanished, magicked away by Gus cuddling up to me at dinner time, holding my hand on the way to the park, and offering to help me with anything and everything with a big, eager smile on his face. 

Our days together pass in a blur, much like I remember them doing when Justin and Molly were still very little. They were always full of so much energy, and Gus is as well. Pair that with Justin, Brian, Daphne, and Gus all staying with me and Molly - well, it's not just a blur, it's something much more frenetic. Thankfully, Michael and Ben have insisted on Mel, Lindsay, and J.R. staying with them. But there are still constant visitors and endless activities. I might have to consider installing a revolving front door to accomodate this frenzy; I wouldn't be surprised if, at this rate, the existing door fell off its hinges.

Today, fortunately, is a little quieter. For the timebeing, it's only Justin, Brian, Gus, and myself. Justin and Gus have been playing for hours on end, building a Lego city that is sprawling far and wide, stretching throughout the family room and into the hall. Brian and I have elected to sit this play session out and just watch. Every so often Gus calls out to us, pleading for us to look at their latest creation, but for the most part our attention is centered on the builders rather than the buildings. Since the two of them are immersed in their construction, it's given me the chance to ask Brian when this all began. When did he start thinking about Justin as a father for Gus? Quietly, with his gaze locked on his son, he confides that it started with Gus' bedroom.

Apparently, when they began apartment-hunting in New York, Brian insisted on having a room for Gus; an idea which Justin was immediately on board with. It became a deciding factor in their search for a home; smirking, Brian likens Justin to Goldilocks, mimicking, "This is too small. This one doesn't have enough light in it!" Justin's quality criteria for Gus' bedroom were extensive and very specific. "He seemed to have a vision," Brian says, his smile softening. "And he refused to stray from it."

When they finally found the right apartment, that was when Justin's paternal instincts came out in full force, along with his perfectionism. Everything had to be just right - _everything_ , Brian stresses, from floor to ceiling, from the north wall to the south. A full three weeks was spent researching and sourcing the best beds for children. Another two, scouring the city for decorations and supplies. And finally, while all of Justin's many, many purchases waited to be moved in, clogging up the other rooms, an entire month was spent painting the room.

"A month, for painting?" I ask, perplexed. Gus' room isn't much bigger than Justin's childhood room was, and Craig and I certainly never had to spend a month on that.

"A month, for painting," Brian confirms, smiling to himself. "I started to forget what colour his hair actually was; every time I saw him, it was caked in paint."

By the time the month was up, the room had been transformed. Every last inch was repainted with painstaking attention to detail. The result was a paradise of turquoise walls and perfect white trims, with the ceiling boasting a mural of starlight. Then in went all of the furnishings, rigorously selected, and all of the toys and books they'd gone shopping for. By the time everything was organised, it was "utopian". After professing this with pride, Brian pauses, watching as Justin hands Gus a handful of red bricks, the two of them counting them one-by-one in unison. Then he says, "The first thing I thought was: every kid should have a room like this. Then I realised... every kid deserves a parent like him. He poured his heart and soul into that room, into making it perfect for my kid. He stopped working at the studio, he was up early every morning... it was everything to him."  


Gus squeals and giggles as part of the tower collapses into his lap. Justin gently pulls Gus into his arms, snuggling his chest to Gus' back, and guides Gus' hands, helping him rebuild the tower more securely. He tucks his chin over Gus' shoulder, softly explaining something to him. Gus nods and grins, and they refashion the structure perfectly.

"I never had anything like that with my father," Brian murmurs, the word 'father' infused with scorn.

"Justin never had anything like that with his," I say, struggling to remember a single instant where Craig was even half as doting as Justin is being right now. After coming up empty, I take Brian's hand in mine. "But nonetheless, you've both figured it out."

He forces a smile and shrugs. "I don't feel like I have."

"You never really do. I feel like I'm doing better with Molly, but Justin..." I laugh and confess, "I raised him with a blindfold on. I had no idea what to do with him."

"You're a great mother," Brian says, immensely sincere.

I squeeze his hand. "And you're a great father."

It's true - Gus looks at Brian like he hung the moon. He sits in Brian's lap every morning at breakfast, he administers hugs that are borderline bone-crushing, and everyone at the airport the other day must have heard Gus' eardrum-shattering screech of,  _"Daddy!!!!",_ as he came hurtling towards us. And then there's the way Brian looks at Gus, which is beyond description. There is too much love there for words to suffice.

"Thank you," he replies quietly.

We return to watching Justin and Gus in silence. Their skyscraper has grown by leaps and bounds - it's almost as tall as Justin. He scoops Gus up in his arms and helps him place the final brick right on top. It clicks into place and Gus grins from ear-to-ear, shining with pride. Justin squeezes him tight and rocks him back and forth, praising, "Good job, Gussy."

"Thanks, Jus," Gus laughs. "Can we build another one?"

Justin's smile lights up the room; it's almost as blindingly bright as the pride I feel. "Of course we can."


	4. Brian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While waiting for Justin to arrive in Toronto, Brian and Lindsay help Gus with a homework assignment.

_Traffic shit. Going to be later than late. Give Gus a kiss from me? Love you - J._

I told Justin it was a fucking stupid idea to drive to Toronto. I told him  _repeatedly._ He didn't listen, though - he was set on the idea and refused to budge. This is the third text I've received today complaining about traffic - it was shit when he was leaving New York, it was shittier all through Pennsylvania, and now... I don't know where he is now, but apparently it's shitty there, too. This is exactly what I predicted; I wish he would just arrive already, so I can get to gloating and telling him I fucking well told him so. 

Justin could have flown in like I did (like any civilised person would, I might add), but he insisted on driving so he could transport paintings for Linz's gallery. I did try reminding him that there is such a thing as FedEx, but he's almost as protective of his paintings as he is of Gus, and was shocked and appalled that I would even suggest that they be let out of his sight or handled by anyone other than him. I last saw him on Wednesday morning, right before I left for the airport, when I tried once again to convince him to ship the damn things and fly in. All this achieved was me being made to sit through a lecture on how fragile the pieces are, and how transporting them requires a finesse that the average FedEx worker is unlikely to possess. "And besides," Justin said to me, "If I drive up on Friday, we can road trip home on Saturday. Don't you think Gus would love that?"

Okay, yes, I expect he will. Eight to ten hours in a car with a small child isn't typically my idea of a good time, but given that the small child in question is Gus, and given that we're bringing him back to New York for an entire fortnight, it actually sounds really great. Justin has mapped out the journey perfectly with plans to stop and sightsee along the way. And, quite frankly, I'd happily sit in a car with Gus for eighty to a hundred hours just to spend more time with him. It's been almost a month since I was last in Toronto and I've felt sick with guilt and longing every day we've been apart. I know Justin feels the same. Although I am greatly looking forward to a good gloating, I don't feel spectacular about him sitting in traffic when I know how much he'd like to be right here with us.

Fortunately, he's not missing out on much. Linz and I are at a standstill with Gus, who is refusing to finish the last leg of his homework. He's fixated on our promise of ice-skating and seems to think he can convince us to skip his last assignment and jump straight to the fun portion of the evening. Despite our best efforts, Gus is sticking to his guns: homework is out, ice-skating is in.

"Daddy, can't we just  _go?"_ Gus looks at me expectantly, like I'm the authority figure in this situation who will miraculously grant him a pardon. He bats his eyelashes at me a little, smiling sweetly. I won't lie - I'm tempted, momentarily, to give in. The kid's persuasive as all hell. But if that doesn't earn me an ass-kicking from Linz, it'll certainly earn me several from Mel when she gets home from work.

"Gus, you know the drill. No ice-skating, no nothing, not until you finish your report." Linz gives him a very serious look. "That was the deal. You get to go to New York so long as you catch up with  _all_ your homework first."

This is met with a lot of pouting and foot-stomping under the table, because according to Gus, there is no suffering on Earth like being forced to do homework. He throws his head back and whines, "I just want to go ice-skating with daddy. I  _never_ see daddy."

That 'never' lands like a gut punch. Linz wraps her arm around my shoulders from behind. "Gus, you see daddy plenty. He's been here almost all week. You have _two whole weeks_ with daddy starting tomorrow. And we can all go ice-skating just as soon as your homework is finished."

He looks at me pleadingly. I slide his notebook towards him. "Homework now. Ice-skating later."

This proves to be nothing short of appalling to Gus. Inwardly, I'm surprised by how responsible I just sounded. Linz laughs softly and whispers in my ear, "You're definitely all grown up now."

I nudge her away and fix her with a scowl as she smirks at me. Gus groans and rests his head atop the notebook. "I don't know who to write about."

I pick up one of the many books Linz has laid out and flip through it, angling it so Gus can see the glossy images of celebrities and sports stars. He wrinkles his nose at all of them. I don't blame him one bit, personally - they're all boring as shit. But he still has to get the report done. "Come on, Sonny Boy. Who's someone you admire?"

"I don't know," he sulks, pouting masterfully. 

Linz sets a cup of coffee down in front of me. She holds Gus' cocoa and the plate of cookies well out of his reach. As he gazes at them longingly, she says firmly, "Choose someone."

"I  _can't,"_ he groans. 

Linz shrugs. "Then no cookies, or cocoa, or ice-skating."

Gus seems staggered by this. As Linz takes a bite of a cookie, his jaw drops in outrage. I sense a meltdown is imminent.

"Here, let's try this," I suggest, settling my hand comfortingly on his shoulder, "Clear your head. Shut your eyes."

Gus squeezes his eyes shut.

"Don't think, just answer: who's someone you look up to?"

Almost instantaneously, he opens his eyes and says, "Justin. I want to write about Justin!"

My heart grows about six sizes. It has also, apparently, relocated to my sleeve, if Linz's adoring gaze is anything to go by. Ignoring her, I lean in and kiss his cheek. "I think that's a great idea, kiddo."

"That's a lovely idea, honey," Linz agrees, relinquishing her protective hold on his cocoa and cookies. She places them down in front of him which pleases him greatly; Gus practically inhales the cocoa and starts munching away on a cookie. 

As he rapidly devours the cookie, he flicks through his notebook to the next blank page. He presses his pencil to the page and, as he writes, says, "Justin. J-U-S-T-I-N. Jus _tin._ "

I pat his arm. "Very good."

He ignores me as he focuses on forming the letters with immense precision. Linz and I share a glance. At this rate, we might get to go ice-skating next year. She sits down and takes Gus' pencil from him. "Honey, why don't you let me write the first draft? You and daddy discuss what we're going to write, I'll jot it down, and you can do the good copy later."

Gus grabs the pencil back and shoves it and the notebook at me. Loftily, he announces, "I want daddy to do it."

"Gus," Lindsay warns.

"Please," he says tiredly. "Please, daddy, will you be scribe?"

I ruffle his hair until it's sticking up in all directions. "Sure." 

He looks very pleased with this arrangement, and props his chin atop his hand, watching me with great intrigue. Biting back a laugh, Lindsay reminds him, "Gus, sweetie, you need to tell daddy what to write. It's your report."

"Daddy probably has lots of good ideas," Gus says, smiling winningly at me. 

"But the question isn't what daddy thinks of Justin," Lindsay says, raising her eyebrows at me suggestively. "I don't think Mrs. Harris wants to read about _that_."

"She might," I say, smirking. Linz shakes her head at me slightly, smiling.

"Honey, why don't you check what the assignment was again?"

Gus grabs the homework sheet and reads aloud, "Write a report on somebody you admire. Tell us who they are and why you admire them. Remember to practice your capital letters, commas, and a- um, add-jeck-tives. Adjectives."

He looks cluelessly at Lindsay. She smiles and says, "Describing words, honey. You know your describing words."

"Like... fancy. Scary. Pretty."

"They were on the spelling list this week," Lindsay explains to me. "Gus got them all right."

"Good boy," I say, smiling at him. He beams back at me.

"I like spelling, daddy," he says. "Daddy. D-A-D-D-Y. Daddy is the best. B-E-S-T."

My heart grows all the more and starts cartwheeling around inside my chest. Wriggling in his seat, Gus continues, "Mommy is pretty. M-O-M-M-Y. P-R-E-T-T-Y." 

"Thanks, baby," Linz says, blushing a little. "But let's get to writing about Justin, okay?"

Gus nods. "Okay. O-K-A-Y."

Keenly keeping him on task, Linz suggests, "Let's start with who Justin is."

"Justin is..." Gus looks at me, like I'm going to finish the sentence for him. I pointedly keep the pencil off the page. He sighs, as though he's suffered some great injustice, and finishes, "My new dad."

I write that down. Gus continues, "He... used to only be my daddy's partner, but then I decided I wanted him to be my dad as well. So I asked and Justin said yes."

He pauses and starts chewing on his thumbnail. Lindsay puts a stop to it by taking his hand in hers. Gus reads what I've written so far and adds, "Now I have two dads and two moms. They're all... amazing. Daddy, write down amazing."

Linz smiles at me and gives Gus' hand a kiss. Gus glances at what I've written so far and purses his lips thoughtfully. "Justin was there when I had just been born. He even named me. I like the name he gave me."

"You sure don't look like an Abraham," I say, poking his nose. He giggles. "What would we call you? Little Abe?"

"Little Ham," Gus cackles.

Linz pinches his cheek. "Okay, Little Ham, tell us about Justin. You've got who a little bit about who he is... what else?"

The pout returns full-force. "I don't know what else." 

"Well, I think we need some more describing words," I put in. Linz raises her eyebrows, clearly as surprised as I am that those words just came out of my mouth.

Gus bites his lip and mulls this over. "Justin is... blonde. And skinny."

Struggling to stifle a burst of laughter, Linz asks, "Is that what you admire about him?"

"It's what _I_ admire about him." I grin at her. "Amongst...  _other_ qualities."

She shakes her head at me again and mouths  _don't start._

"No," Gus says, quite mopily. "I don't know. There's lots of things."

He groans and sinks his head onto the table. "I admire... that Justin would take me ice-skating _right now_."

"Justin would want you to do your homework," I say, drawing another impressed look from Linz. Gus whimpers dramatically. I glance at Linz and she raises her hand as if to say  _leave him be._ I grab a cookie and we wait for Gus to collect his thoughts.

After some time, he bolts upright and announces, "I've got it. I think I know what I wanna say."

He stabs his finger to the page and orders, "Daddy, write this down."

*

By the time Justin arrives, Gus has finished the good copy of his report plus two accompanying illustrations, we've spent hours at the ice-rink, and after a very generous helping of dinner, Mel and Linz have bundled him off to bed. He wasn't happy about being sent off to bed without seeing Justin, but eventually accepted this tragic fate after being promised he would see Justin first thing in the morning. When I hear the car pulling into the drive, I go and meet Justin on the porch, Gus' notebook in hand.

Justin emerges from the car looking like an absolute wreck. He smiles sleepily at me and groans, "Whose brilliant idea was it for me to drive here?"

"Yours, if I recall correctly, Sunshine." I clear my throat and mimic in a high pitch, " _I'm going to drive up with the paintings and then we'll roadtrip home! It'll be so much fun!"_

"Is that your idea of what I sound like?" He jumps on me and wrestles me until he has me pinned on the dykey loveseat Mel and Linz have on the porch. "I so don't sound like that!"

" _I so don't sound like that,_ " I echo, laughing until he silences me with a kiss. 

"I missed you, you asshole," Justin murmurs, resting his forehead against mine. "How's Gus?"

"Terribly excited about the next two weeks. It's all he wanted to talk about at dinner."

"Sorry I missed it." His mouth twists unhappily. "Traffic was gridlocked all the way out of the city, and crossing the border was a nightmare. I hope it's better when we take Gus home. It's a long drive for him."

"It'll be fine," I say, knowing full well Justin will have planned for Gus' every possible need. I can see from here that the car is stocked with more than just the paintings for Linz. "I have something to show you. Would you unhand me?"

He relaxes his grip on my arms and lets me reach for Gus' notebook. As I flip through it, I explain, "Linz and I helped Gus with his homework assignment this afternoon. He had to write a report on someone he admires. Wanna hear it?"

"Sure," Justin says, shifting to sit next to me. He drapes his legs over mine and rests his head on my shoulder.

I clear my throat and begin: "Someone I admire is Justin. Justin is my new dad."

"Shut up, he did  _not_..." Justin snatches the notebook and stares at it, his eyes growing wide. "He wrote about me?"

"He wrote about you." I pry the book out of his hands and continue, "Justin used to only be my daddy's partner, but then I decided I wanted him to be my dad as well. So I asked and Justin said yes. Now I have two dads and two moms. They're all amazing. Justin was there when I had just been born. He even named me. I like the name he gave me. I like a lot of things about Justin."

Justin ducks his head a little, smiling against my shoulder. 

"Justin is very kind. He makes me feel very loved. I admire how he has a big heart. I admire how he loves me and moms and daddy. He makes us very happy. Justin is also an artist. He does lovely paintings and designs things on his computer. Sometimes he draws pictures for me. We also draw pictures together a lot. I admire how hard Justin works. He is very creative with a giant imagination. I could look at his pretty paintings all day. I love and admire Justin very much. The End."

Justin kisses my shoulder and murmurs, "Your kid is amazing."

"Our kid," I amend. He gives me a dazzling smile. "He's been  _ours_ for three months, two weeks, and six days now. You know how I know that?"

Justin shrugs. I set the notebook aside and pull him closer to me.

"I know that because Gus showed me the calendar he keeps by his bed, where he's marked the day you said you'd be his father with a huge X, and a shitload of stickers in the shapes of stars and hearts." I thread my fingers through his hair, gently sifting through it. "He counts the days. Mel says sometimes he even tries to count the hours."

"So next week it'll be four months," Justin muses. "We should do something to celebrate."

I smile. "That's exactly what Gus said." 

Justin grins. Still stroking his hair, I ask, "Are you ready for two full weeks with him?"

He breathes in deeply, then exhales carefully. "Two full weeks with Gus? Sure. Two full weeks with Gus, just us two? Absolutely, sounds great. Two full weeks with Gus, with you working every day so it's really just me and Gus from 9 til 5, Monday to Friday? I... don't know. Only time will tell."

"What are you worried about?"

He sighs and buries his face against my shoulder. "That I'll bore him to death. That he'll get sick of me. I thought about it on the ride up - with you working all week, I'll have to fill eighty hours.  _Eighty hours._ What do I do with a kid for that long?"

"I'm sure you'll figure it out." I arch an eyebrow at him. "I'm sure you've  _already_ figured it out, you're just being a twat."

Justin laughs. I kiss his cheek. "And it won't be 9 til 5. I was thinking... 9 til 4, if that."

"You're planning on leaving work early?" He gasps and clutches his chest. "Wonders will never cease."

I consider a snarky retort, but it's late, and a different response has sprung to mind. I swoop down and nuzzle his neck and say, very softly, "Anything for you and Sonny Boy."

His responding smile is utterly intoxicating. I abandon playing with his hair and touch his chin, feeling the roughness of stubble. Justin eases closer to me, his hand creeping over my thigh. I run my fingers along the length of his jaw, and pull him in for another kiss.


	5. Justin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian, Justin, and Gus road-trip from Toronto to New York and make a few stops along the way.

When I was a kid, one of my favourite parts of road-tripping with mom and dad used to be mom's golden rule: wherever we go, we have to stop somewhere new every time. Even if we were driving to see our grandparents, which wasn't all that far away, she had to find somewhere different for us to stop. Parks, forests, lakes, outlooks - Molly and I always had somewhere new to explore, even if it was only for half an hour. 

Our trip from Toronto to New York is filled with stops here, there, and everywhere. After all, Gus is still little, and we can't keep him cooped up in the car forever. Hell,  _I_ can't stay cooped up in the car - not again, not after yesterday. Brian has been gloating aplenty about how stupid that idea was. I have to give him that - driving to Toronto on a Friday? Monumentally stupid. But driving back to New York on a Saturday? Not so bad. Especially when there are lots of places where we can sightsee with Gus, who's hungry for adventures.

We stop for lunch at the Finger Lakes. Gus is much more interested in adventuring than eating, so while Brian and I sit on the grass and finish our lunch, Gus plays down by the water. He is immersed in the surroundings; tracing pictures in the sand, collecting pebbles and tossing them into the lake, and gathering leaves that he twirls between his fingers.

As we start packing up, he calls out, "Daddy, can I dunk my feet in?"

"It's pretty cold," Brian replies, glancing at me for confirmation. I nod in agreement. "I don't think so, kiddo."

"I want to try it," Gus pleads, skimming his fingers over the water's gleaming surface. "I'll dunk them really quickly."

"What are your moms going to say if we send you home with pneumonia?"

Gus smiles at Brian and climbs back up the bank towards us. He settles on Brian's knee and says sweetly, "Please, daddy? I promise I won't get sick. I want to try it just once."

"I don't think it's a good idea, Gussy," I say, reaching over to squeeze his arm. "It's kinda chilly."

"But I have to," he whines. "Then I can put another blue star on my travel map. I've been in the Pacific Ocean and the Atlantic Ocean, and Lake Ontario, and now I want to go in this lake, too."

"Seneca Lake," Brian supplies, ruffling Gus' hair. "Very cold, very chilly Seneca Lake. Why don't we come back in summer? You'll like it better then."

"But that's then," Gus pouts, tugging on Brian's sleeve. "And this is now. Please? Please, please, please? Even just my big toe. Even just for a second."

Unable to resist any longer, Brian sighs and reaches for Gus' feet. "Only for a few seconds, okay?"

Gus grins from ear to ear. Brian pops his shoes and socks off and hands them to me for safekeeping. Then he scoops Gus up and carries him to the water's edge. He smiles at Gus and instructs gently, "Grab my hands and hold on tight."

Gus grasps Brian's hands tightly. To Gus' great delight, Brian lifts him up and dangles him over the lake, swinging him back and forth. At first, he teases Gus, keeping his tiny feet just shy of the water. Then he dips Gus down, ever so slightly, so Gus' toes graze the surface. As Gus squeals with excitement, Brian's entire face lights up. He continues swinging Gus back and forth, back and forth, letting Gus' feet skim across the water, breaking the once still surface.

Watching them, a lump lodges in my throat. I wish I hadn't left the camera in the car. Before I have a chance to go and get it, Brian has swept Gus up, away from the water, gathering him in a big hug. The moment is gone.

Back in the car, Brian sits next to Gus in the back and carefully dries his feet with a towel. "Not too cold?"

"Nuh-uh," Gus shakes his head. "I'm okay."

He lifts up his feet so Brian can help him back into his socks and shoes. I watch silently as Brian rolls each sock over Gus' toes and gently tugs them up over his ankles. His every movement is so careful; it's like he thinks Gus is made of glass. Before slipping his shoes back on, Brian gives Gus' feet a squeeze and rubs them. "Sure you're warm enough?"

Gus nods happily. Brian smiles. It's time that we were getting moving, so I start the car and slowly pull out of the parking lot. The road is thick with traffic; as I wait for it to clear, I watch Brian lacing Gus' shoes in the rear-view mirror, attending to the task with an almost impossibly delicate touch. Then he grabs a blanket and spreads it over Gus' legs and, as a final touch, removes his scarf and winds it around Gus' neck. "There you go, Sonny Boy."

Gus beams. "Thanks, daddy."

"No problem." Brian brushes his hand over Gus' forehead, sweeping Gus' hair out of the way so he can kiss his temple. 

I turn my attention back to the traffic, which is thinning out. At least, I think it is - everything is kind of blurred. In the time it takes for the last few streams of vehicles to clear, I blink back the tears that are making my vision swim. Then I turn back onto the road and follow the signs to the highway. By the time we reach it, Gus is asleep, drooping against Brian's arm. 

Mom told me that there are days you forget - ones that are inconsequential, ones that slip right by - and days you'll remember forever. The latter, she said, are the ones to live for - the ones that leave your heart in your throat, the ones that make everything seem clear and bright and beautiful. For her, it was days like the one when I took my first steps, or when she found me bandaging Molly's knee after a nasty fall from her tricycle, or when mom and I danced together at cousin Joanne's wedding, and plenty of others beyond and in between. For me, today will certainly be one that I remember. Maybe not all of it, but without a doubt, I'll remember Gus swirling his fingers through the crystal-clear water with fascination, and Brian swinging him to and fro, letting him dance across the surface, and them laughing together. I'll remember how carefully Brian carried him back to the car, how he cuddled up with him, making sure he was warm enough with a delicate, loving touch. And I'll remember how, right now, they're sleeping together, hand in hand, heads bowed together, breathing synchronised as random glimmers of afternoon light scatter over them, filtered through the trees surrounding the road that will take us home.


	6. Justin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the last leg back to New York, Justin contemplates what it means to be Gus' father.

As far as being a dad goes, I really have no idea what I'm doing. Basically all I've figured out so far is this: go with what you know. I know I want to be as good of a dad to Gus as Brian is. I know I want to make him and Mel and Linz proud. And I know I want to be a lot like my mom and exactly nothing like my dad.

Wait, no, 'my dad' sounds all wrong. My father? Craig? Shit, I don't even know what to call him anymore. I wish there were a more appropriate term for someone who's technically half of your genetics but who hates you and everyone like you. Brian has some pretty solid suggestions - 'festering sack of shit' is one of my personal favourites. We don't talk about the festering sack of shit very often, but when we do, Brian is brutal. He's had ample opportunity lately; I've been thinking about my father a lot more than I have in years and how he's hardly deserving of such a title or such a generous portion of my emotional energy. Dwelling on it inevitably gets me down, which Brian inevitably notices, which inevitably leads to some very colourful discussions about my father's many failings and how much we loathe him.

We've agreed that, for now, Gus need know nothing about Craig Taylor, abusive homophobe extraordinaire. It's not like Gus will be missing out. He has his hands full now, grandparent-wise, what with mom and Deb inundating him with affection. And besides, it's not like my father would want anything to do with Gus. He doesn't even want anything to do with me. We haven't spoken since he had me arrested. We are, essentially, strangers. All he is to me is some shared biology and a lesson I was forced to learn the hard way:  _never treat anyone the way he treated you._

Especially not my kid.

My kid. Gus is my kid.  _Gus_ is  _my kid._ According to his meticulous calculations, today marks three months and three weeks. Three months and three weeks is a pretty decent amount of time, and yet, I am  _still_ not used to the idea. I'm thrilled, of course, to put it lightly. To put it less lightly and much more accurately, I'm fucking ecstatic. Gus is amazing, and he's mine. He chose to be mine. Brian, Mel, and Linz supported him in this. I am a parent, and Gus is my kid, and even after almost four months, it still throws me.

When I first found out, while Daph was visiting, she asked me what I thought I would be to him. After all, she pointed out, Brian and I had once planned on getting married, which would have made me some sort of a father to Gus. "Like maybe a step-father or a father figure," she provided helpfully. As always, Daph had a good point. But it doesn't seem like the same thing. Step-father seems like a sort of technicality. Father figure sounds nice, but kind of flimsy. This is different.

Gus  _chose_ me. He decided he should be mine, and I should be his, and so we became each others'. It's not every day a kid decides to accept someone as their parent, but he's done so with open arms. That's kind of incredible. 

It's also kind of terrifying, because Gus is this perfect little person who has put his faith in me, and I really don't know if I measure up. As happy as the last few months have been, I frequently lose my footing and get struck by doubt. What if I fuck this up? What if I fuck  _him_ up?

Fortunately, I have a great cheer squad, captained by Daph. Thank fuck she was visiting when the letter arrived, or I don't know what I would have done. When we went out that night, she spent hours singing my praises and building me up. The rest of the weekend was much the same; she glued herself to my side and was relentless in her quest to reassure me. Daph is the best. Even though my footing is still unsteady, I owe a lot of my confidence to her. Whenever I start feeling unsure of myself, I remind myself that Daph believes I can do this, that she believes I'll be a good dad to Gus. She even believes all of this was fated, given that Brian and I met on the night Gus was born. Brian, of course, believes that to be utter bullshit; when he heard her utter the dreaded 'f' word, Daph was subjected to a very stern lecture: _"We don't use that word in this house, young lady,"_ Brian admonished, pairing his remonstrations with a curled lip and arched brow.

I really don't know whether this was fate or not. All that matters is that it...  _is._ I'm Gus' dad. He's my kid. And now, with almost four months having gone by, I'm about to find out whether I can really handle it.

Before today, my role as dad has been limited to phone calls, emails, care packages, and a few trips to see him in Pittsburgh and Toronto. Throughout all of that, I've had back-up. Someone has been with me every step of the way, whether it's Brian and I calling Gus every evening, or mom helping me tuck Gus into bed during our visits to Pittsburgh, or Mel and Linz offering their support and guidance. That's all about to come to a screeching halt. Brian's here with me right now, and we'll be spending tomorrow together with Gus, but he's back to work on Monday. For most of the two weeks Gus is with us, Brian will be at Kinnetik and I will be entirely alone with our kid. Everyone keeps telling me I'll be fine; mom says I'm a natural, Daph says I'll be spectacular, and Brian keeps telling me to stop doubting myself like a total twat. Before we left Toronto, Mel wrapped me up in a big hug and told me, "I love you and I trust you. Have a great time." Linz did the same, reminding me, "You don't have to prove anything, honey, you're wonderful just as you are."

That's nice to know, but I'm still fucking petrified.

We're not far from home now. I've been driving the last leg while Gus and Brian doze together in the back seat. It's fucking adorable, is what it is - the way they're huddled up together, sleeping peacefully. It strikes me that I've never seen Brian like this before, and what's more, I'm probably the only person who's ever seen him like this. It warms me through, the sight of him and Gus, and the thought that they're both mine.

As we hit the George Washington Bridge and the car goes over a bump, Brian stirs. Our eyes meet in the rear-view mirror and he smiles sleepily at me. I can't help but smile back. My anxiousness eases a little. Brian nudges Gus and whispers, "Wake up, kiddo, and look at the lights."

Gus' lashes flutter and he peeks his eyes open. Blinking tiredly, he leans over Brian and gazes out the window. As he takes in the sight of the city, Gus smiles and says, "It's so pretty."

"We're almost home," Brian tells him, stroking his hair. Gus grins and wriggles excitedly in his seat and starts reeling off a list of everything he's looking forward to. My anxiousness eases a little more.

By the time we've crossed the city and have arrived home, Gus is asleep again. While I grab the bags, Brian scoops Gus into his arms and carries him upstairs, cradling him tenderly. I follow him as he takes Gus into his room and settles him in bed. Just like he did earlier at the lake, Brian slips Gus' shoes and socks off with great care. He even manages to ease Gus out of his coat without rousing him. While he tucks Gus in, I switch on the night light above the bed. It casts a soft glow over Brian as he kisses Gus and whispers good night. My chest constricts a little. Brian looks up at me and grabs my hand, pulling me down so I'm kneeling beside him. I follow his lead and kiss Gus good night.

It reminds me, momentarily, of how my mom used to come and kiss me good night. I want to be a lot like her and exactly nothing like the man who's technically my father. Even though they already trust me and I don't need to prove myself, I want to make Mel and Linz proud. And more than anything, I want to be as good of a dad to Gus as Brian is. The next two weeks are going to be my chance to try all of that out. I'm as excited as I am terrified.

"Time for bed, Sunshine," Brian urges in a whisper. He grabs my hand and helps me to my feet, which for the timebeing, feel pretty steady. I let Brian lead me out of Gus' room and into our own. The next two weeks are going to be something, that's for sure, but first things first - I am in desperate need of sleep. I fall into bed and ease into Brian's waiting arms. Wrapped in the safe warmth of his embrace, my anxiousness disappears entirely. I wouldn't be surprised if it makes a reappearance at some point, but for now, I feel sure of myself. After all, Brian has placed his faith in me. Brian, who loves Gus more than life itself. Brian, who treats Gus like some fragile, precious treasure. Brian, who lights up at the sound of Gus' laughter. If Brian trusts me with Gus, I must be doing something very right.


	7. Brian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian watches as Justin grows more confident in his parenting.

"Good morning, Sunshine."

"Morning," Justin says, grinning at me sleepily as he enters the kitchen. He gravitates towards me, his grin brightening as I wrap an arm around him and pull him in for a kiss. 

Brandishing his favourite mug, I offer, "Coffee?"

"Mmm, yeah." Justin sits down on one of the kitchen stools and rubs sleep from his eyes. "You're normally gone by now."

"Eager to get rid of me?"

He smirks as I hand him his coffee. "Actually, I'm just glad I didn't miss you."

"I thought I'd wait and see if I could catch Gus." I check my watch and angle it so Justin can see. "I don't think that's going to happen."

Justin shakes his head and smiles sympathetically. "I just checked in on him, he's still out like a light. I'm sure he'll be full energy when you see him tonight, though."

Since he's almost emptied his mug already, I grab it and top him up. "So what are you and the kid up to today?"

"I thought I'd take him on a bit of a sightseeing tour," Justin yawns, stretching his back until it cracks. I reach over and rub my hand in circles from the nape of his neck downwards. He leans into it, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, and continues, "Maybe we'll go shopping, too. He needs clothes for the studio. Everything Mel packed screams 'don't you dare get paint on this'."

I sweep my hand between his shoulder blades, up and down, back and forth. "Sounds good."

He purses his lips and peers at me curiously. "Does it? Are you sure?"

"Yes," I say, leaning in to kiss the curve of his shoulder. "Just have all of your plans for the rest of the week sent to my office by 3pm so I can assess and critique them accordingly. Cynthia will advise you what has been vetoed by close of business. Revisions will be due by 9pm, and not a moment later, or I'll be forced to temporarily revoke your parenting privileges."

"Shut up," he laughs. "I just want to make sure Gus has a good time."

As much as I admire his dedication, I'm less fond of the self-doubt. For what feels like the thousandth time, I try to impress upon him how excellent he is at this. I've tried so many different tactics over the last four months; maybe today, this will be the one that sticks. Settling my hands steadily on his shoulders, I enthuse, "You could sit with him in the corner staring at a wall all day and he'd love it. The kid adores you. You'll be fine."

Justin takes a gulp of his coffee and sighs. "I've never been all alone with him."

"Sure you have."

"Yeah, when he was a baby! Babies are simple." He shrugs and chews on his lip. "Now he's at an age where he could very easily tire of me. Plus, kids can smell fear, and I'm crazy nervous."

"Crazy is right." I ease in close and kiss him gently. "Stop being such a twat."

"Is that all you have to say to me?" Justin asks, laughing incredulously.

I glance at my watch and go to grab my briefcase. "Since I have to be out the door in fifteen seconds, yes. I think that's the best way to sum it up."

Justin sighs and stares dismally at his coffee. Fifteen seconds is clearly not going to suffice. Fuck it, I can be late. I set my briefcase down and go to him. He relaxes a fraction as I drape myself over his back and wrap my arms around his middle. "You want the extended cut?"

"Mmm-hmm," he murmurs, burrowing into my embrace.

"You're too in your head about this. We wanted you to be his dad because you were already acting like his dad, and you were doing a fucking fantastic job of it. Gus is nuts about you. He can't wait to spend today with you. The two of you are going to have a great time." 

Justin nods slightly, trying to smile. I nuzzle his neck and add quietly, "Look at me. There's one more thing, and it merits your full attention."

Justin turns and gazes at me with trepidation. I kiss him again and whisper, "Lastly, and most importantly..."

He smiles at me hopefully. "Yeah?"

"... stop being such a twat."

Justin bursts out laughing and smacks my arm. "Asshole!"

"I don't deny it," I concede, shrugging. "But that's the best I can do. If I'm any later for work, Cynthia will kick my ass. So if you'll excuse me..."

He rolls his eyes, grinning. "Go on, go to work."

"That's all I get before I begin my busy day? 'Go on, go to work'?"

Justin grabs the lapels of my suit and tugs me towards him. He kisses me soundly, his fingers grasping my chest greedily. "How's that?"

"Good enough."

"Good _enough_?" Justin repeats indignantly, his eyes narrowing. "Fuck. You."

He stands up and coils his arms around me, deliciously tight. With fire in his gaze, he wrenches me close and crushes his mouth against mine, then kisses me until I practically see stars. I won't ever admit it, but I leave for work light-headed and weak-kneed, my heart pounding intensely in my chest.

*

Every other day, I love my job. I fucking love it. I love the New York office, I love my staff, I love the work we're doing, and I love the challenge inherent in all of it - in running two locations, in finding ways to survive and thrive in the New York market, and in besting myself at every turn. My job is my lifeblood. Kinnetik feels like an extra appendage that I've grown, it is that essential and beloved to me. _I love this job._

Except for today. And tomorrow. And probably every day following for the next two weeks, because this stupid fucking job is keeping me from my family. I could be spending time with Justin and Gus, but I'm stuck in unmissable meetings. I could be reassuring Justin of his tremendous parenting abilities, but the art department is full of wayward interns who practically require bottle-feeding and swaddling for how goddamned incompetent they are. I could be enjoying the company of my son, but instead I'm 'enjoying' the company of clients. For the next two weeks, I fucking hate this job.

Fortunately, Cynthia is well aware of where I would rather be, and has managed to rearrange my schedule so I can leave early each and every day while Gus is in town. Today, I leave at 4.30 and make it home by 5, which is a shock to the system - albeit a very pleasant one. The entire way home, all I think of is Gus and Justin and how they spent their day, and whether Justin is okay, and whether Gus missed me or not. 

When I arrive home, there's no sign of them at first. Music fills every room, emanating from the kitchen. I find them there, sitting side by side at the island. Justin is chopping vegetables and Gus is arranging them carefully on a platter. What with the music blaring through the apartment, I don't think they've noticed me yet. Justin is humming while Gus wiggles and bops along, alternating between arranging carrot sticks and eating them. I watch them for a moment, drinking in the sight of my partner and our son, both of them looking blissfully happy. Then I set down my briefcase and files and clear my throat, announcing my presence. In unison, they glance up at me, lighting up.

"Daddy!" Gus beams at me. "How was work?"

I go and sweep him up into my arms, hugging him with all my might. "Excellent. How was your day?"

"Terrific," he enthuses, practically glowing. I set him back down on the kitchen stool. "Justin and I rode the subway, then a ferry, and we went sightseeing and had hot dogs and I got studio clothes and I bought you a present!"

After spewing all of this information out in the space of two seconds, Gus leaps off the stool and goes bolting out of the room. I turn my attention to Justin, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Well, I'm impressed. It would appear he's still in one piece."

"Shut up," Justin laughs, elbowing me.

"You look like you are, too," I say, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "And neither one of you look like you're bored to tears. How miraculous!"

He chuckles and admits with a shrug, "We had a nice time."

I run my hand through his hair, combing my fingers from the roots to the tips. "Thank you for this."

"Don't mention it," he says, sighing contentedly. "He's so great."

"Not for that." 

Justin frowns. "Then for what?"

I smirk at him. "For giving me yet another chance to tell you  _I told you so."_

As Gus has just come sprinting back into the room, Justin settles for simply mouthing  _fuck you_  this time.We grin at each other and he pulls me closer, just as Gus thrusts a gift bag at me. "Here, daddy. We got you this."

I open it and pull out a silk tie in a rich shade of turquoise. Gus reaches out and strokes the soft fabric. "I chose it 'cause it's my favourite colour. You can wear it at work and remember me."

I'll take that to mean he does miss me when I'm not around. Relief trickles through me, paired with a patch of guilt. I bundle him up in another bear hug. "I always remember you, wherever I am. But this is great. Thank you."

Gus wriggles deeper into my arms, mumbling into my chest, "If you wake me up tomorrow before you go, I'll put it on you! Justin taught me how."

Justin nods, looking impressed. "Gus is a natural."

"Clever boy," I say, squeezing him. "Why don't you go put it on my dresser?"

"'Kay!" He grabs the bag and races off happily. Justin watches him go with a fond expression lighting his face. I sit down next to him, stealing Gus' spot.

"I know every parent says this," he says, grinning, "But I don't care. He is the most awesome kid in the world."

As I wrap an arm around him, I reply cheerfully, "Thanks, I made him myself."

Justin snorts. "Don't go telling Linz that."

"I'll admit she played a moderately important role."

"I can't wait to tell her that," he says, shaking with laughter. " _Hey, Linz, congratulations on playing a moderately important role during nine months of pregnancy and hours upon hours of childbirth._  She'll be ever so pleased."

"Don't you dare," I warn, adopting my most severe tone. This doesn't seem to faze him at all. "Besides, I'm quite sure you'll agree that my contribution to the entire process was much more... _interesting_."

A sly grin stretches over his face. With a quirk of his brow, Justin's eyes roam over my body hungrily. "I'm not so sure... I think you'll need to remind me. Maybe with a re-enactment later tonight?"

"That can be arranged."

I grab the waistband of his jeans and tug him towards me for another kiss, just as Gus comes running back into the room. He clambers into my lap, grumbling, "You stole my spot, daddy."

"Sorry, Sonny Boy," I murmur, cuddling him. "You'll just have to learn to share."

"Mrs. Harris says sharing is caring," Gus imparts sagely, returning to his task of arranging the salad platter.

"Mrs. Harris sounds very wise," I say, smirking at Justin over the top of Gus' head. "Justin and I do so enjoy  _sharing._ "

"That's nice," Gus replies, oblivious to the innuendo that has just scandalised Justin. As Gus busies himself fashioning tomatoes into a star shape, Justin kicks my leg and mouths, suppressing laughter,  _behave yourself._

 _For now,_ I mouth back, and he grins and blushes. Gus asks Justin to hand over more carrot sticks, so Justin returns to chopping dutifully. He looks different to what he did this morning, and better than he has in months. There still isn't that vibrant confidence I'm used to seeing in him, but the unsettling sense of uncertainty that's been lingering seems to have lessened somewhat. I return my hand to his back, stroking soothingly, and watch it lessen a little more.

*

The next night, I return home even earlier, right on time to help Gus build a fort in the living room. He's amassed a collection of blankets and pillows for us to work with but doesn't seem to know where to start, so I sit him on my knee and we talk through a plan together. By the time we're done it's a huge, pillowy cavern, encompassing the couch and coffee table and TV. Upon completion, Gus hurls himself into my arms. "Tell me about your day," he requests in a whisper, snuggling me. He listens happily until Justin brings us dinner, which we eat as we watch a movie. Halfway through, I tire of the crappy kids' movie and turn my attention to Justin. It is unspeakably pleasing to see that he looks as happy as I feel.

On Wednesday, Gus accosts me as soon as I'm through the front door. They've been to the library, and he's desperate to read to me. While Justin runs out to get dinner, Gus entertains me with a stack of picture books. I find I can't pay much attention to the plot; I'm much more interested in the way Gus tracks the sentences with his finger, dragging it along the page as he reads aloud carefully. Every so often, there are words he can't quite figure out, and he turns to me with big, curious eyes. I grab his hand and point his finger to the words, guiding him through them bit by bit. As we work through them together, I suddenly feel incredibly responsible and grown up. It's really something, helping him with his reading. I don't just feel unprecedentedly mature; there's a lot more to it than that, I'm just at a loss as to how to describe it.

Thursday evening is as it normally is; I pick up Chinese on my way across town and take it to Justin's studio. I find him and Gus immersed in painting. When I close the studio door behind me, it breaks the spell momentarily and Gus comes flying into my arms.  _He missed me,_ I think, with no small amount of relief. Justin smiles at me from across the room, clearly very well aware of what moments like this mean to me. Gus grabs my hand and drags me over to the workbench, where he explains at warp speed what they're working on. It's a mural of different places Gus has been - Pittsburgh, Toronto, New York, California - in about a million different colours. 

"And daddy," he blurts out, glowing, "Jus said I could take it home! I'm going to hang it above my bed and look at it every single morning and every single night."

At that, Justin blushes, a quiet smile growing on his face. I reach across and tussle his hair with one hand, as Gus plants a paint-brush in the other.

"Help me paint this bit," he orders, pointing to a blank section of canvas. "I want it purple."

"Manners," I remind him, as Lindsay and Melanie always have to, once again feeling very fucking grown up. I can't say I ever envisaged myself helping my child with reading or painting with him, let alone advising him to mind his manners... but then again, for a very long time I thought I'd be eternally childless. I am so goddamned glad that didn't end up being the case. Justin is absolutely right - Gus is the best kid in the world. I have no idea where I would be without him, nor do I possess any desire to find out. 

"Please," he amends, kissing my cheek by way of apology. "Please help me paint this bit."

I kiss his cheek right back. "Okay, Sonny Boy. Here we go."

Gus picks up his own brush and starts dabbing red paint in the shape of a heart in his New York section. Justin leans across and writes in black paint  _I_ and  _NY._ Gus grins. "I heart NY. I do, I do, I do, it's awesome here."

Justin smiles and squeezes Gus' arm. He watches as I paint my section of canvas and comments, "Good technique."

"You know how I pride myself on my technique," I say, smirking at him. Justin lifts his brush, like he's about to flick paint all over me. I grab his arm and restrain it, mouthing,  _don't you fucking dare._ He chuckles and clasps his hand over his heart dramatically, mimicking mockingly,  _not my Armani!_ Since Gus is engrossed with his painting, I take the opportunity to flip Justin off. He snickers and drops the brush, raising his hands in surrender.

"Jus, help me," Gus pleads suddenly, pointing to what he's been working on. It's the lake we visited during the drive home the other day. "The colour is wrong."

Justin grabs a couple of pots of paint and an empty container. He starts pouring them in together and blending them, talking Gus through the process as he goes. Gus listens attentively, watching Justin blend the paints with fascination. I watch Justin, absorbed by the way he looks at Gus and how he explains everything so gently and cleverly. As he offers Gus the container of freshly blended paint, both of them smiling at each other, it strikes me that he's done it - he's out of his head, at least for now, and he's even better than I could have ever imagined.


	8. Justin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long day, Gus is exhausted. Brian and Justin... not so much.

When we get home from the studio, Gus is about ready to drop. He whimpers as we reach the stairwell and stretches his arms up, silently pleading for one of us to take him. I lift him up and he sags against me, mumbling sleepily as I start climbing the stairs. Brian touches my back gently; I turn to look at him and he smiles at me, with clear pride. I swear, almost every inch of me blushes. 

After we've deposited Gus in his room, Brian grabs me and whispers in my ear, "Tired, Sunshine?"

"Not even a little." I kiss him, winding my arms around his neck, laughing a little as he urgently backs me towards our room. Brian's quick on his feet and quicker with his hands; before I know it, he's got me in bed, on my back, in nothing but my briefs. I watch him undress, eagerly taking in the sight of every inch of flesh he bares. I've missed this. I didn't realise how much, until right now.

Still, though - it doesn't change the fact that Gus is only a little way down the hall. I plant my foot on Brian's chest, holding him at bay. "I'm worried he'll hear us."

Brian grabs my foot and rests it on his shoulder. "He's not going to hear us. He's out for the count."

"Are you sure?"

He rolls his eyes. "Will you stop being such a panicky little prude? How many times did you hear your parents fucking?"

My stomach turns and I gag. "Ew, never."

Brian snickers. "And, yet, I'm almost certain it happened. Parents fuck. Even yours, Sunshine."

"Brian!" I kick him. "Ew! Ugh, you are the  _worst."_  


He bites down on my leg. Not sounding even remotely remorseful (mostly just amused with himself), he says, "Sorry."

"You'll be sorry when I spend the rest of my life in therapy," I grumble. "Ugh, the mental images... how _could_ you? Bleugh!"

"Calm down, princess," he mocks, grinning. "My point being, that you never knew about it. You were oblivious, just like our kid is oblivious. Gus is sound asleep and none the wiser. So unclench, will you?"

I kick him again. He just laughs, grasping my foot tightly to stop any further attempts. Then he kisses my leg, gently, teasingly, moving up and up and up until his lips are brushing over the inside of my thigh. I cover my mouth with the back of my hand, trying to remain quiet as Brian's tongue snakes inside the left leg of my briefs. I close my eyes, shutting everything else out; all that's left is pitch blackness and the hot, wet slide of his tongue against my flesh. I drink in the sensation. It's all there is, a splash of feeling in the midst of darkness. I moan, quietly, but maybe not quietly enough, shit... but  _fuck it,_ I need this, I need him, I...

His tongue disappears. I can still feel his breath tickling my thigh, but that's all, for now. I arch up, bumping his chin with my thigh, and Brian presses his hand to my stomach and pushes me back down. The forcefulness of it sends a thrill through me. He keeps his hand there, still at first, holding me down... then his fingers creep, slowly caressing my abdomen, moving lower and lower, bit by bit, just not low enough or quick enough. Fucking tease. My voice catching a little, I whisper, "Please."

"Please what?" He asks, his voice low and rough. I'm sure he's smirking. I can just sense it, and I can picture it, too - the smug, sly curve of his mouth, his eyes glittering. Brian slides his hands underneath me, grabs my briefs, and  _tears_ them. The sound of fabric shredding practically echoes in the otherwise quiet room.

"Hey!" I bolt upright and open my eyes. Glaring at him, I warn, "Watch it. Gus could have heard that."

"Please  _what?"_ Brian repeats insistently, as he tosses the ripped briefs over his shoulder. His gaze drags over me hungrily, from my lips to my neck, down my chest, then centering in on my cock. Heat floods through me. Fuck, I want him. I want a lot of things. I want him to suck me, rim me, finger me, play with me until I'm delirious. That's how Thursday nights normally go. That's how most nights normally go. But most nights go for hours upon hours and end with me screaming, the sound surrounding us, filling the bedroom, filling the apartment. That's not an option tonight. And what's more, it's been over a week since Brian and I have fucked. That's an extraordinary stretch of time for the two of us. I am consumed by frustrated longing. Fuck it - tonight's not the night to take it slow, to over-indulge. More than anything, I just want him inside of me.  _Now._  


"Fuck me," I demand. Brian arches a brow at me.

"Fuck you, what?"

I roll my eyes as he prowls up the length of my body, settling his hands on either side of my head, watching me with a heated gaze. Knowing he's perfectly willing to hold out until he hears what he wants to hear, I give in. Quietly, I beg, "Fuck me, please."

Brian leans in close, his breath brushing against my lips. "I didn't quite catch that."

As much as he might want me to, I'm not going to pump up the volume. I'm just not. Scarring Gus for life is not on my list of things to do. So instead, I loop an arm around Brian and pull him close to me, so I can press my lips to his ear and whisper, "Please fuck me. I need you inside me."

In the split second before he kisses me, a grin flashes across his face. Then his lips are crushed against mine, one of his hands is tangling in my hair, and - oh, _fuck_ \- he's yanking my head back, baring my throat, and his tongue is sweeping over my Adam's apple, his mouth is clamping down, and I let myself forget the very questionable mark he's surely leaving and lose myself in how fucking good it feels to have him suck my neck.

He tracks a similar path down my body, making me wild, making me whimper, until his tongue is lapping at my entrance. I grab my cock and stroke it while Brian rims me, plunging his tongue in as deep as it will go, preparing me perfectly. Perfect, that's what he is, that's what this is, that's what it always is. Fucking  _perfect._  


Once he's reduced me to a writhing, begging mess, Brian pulls away, repositioning himself, propping my feet on his shoulders. I tear open the condom wrapper with my teeth and roll it onto his cock, slowly, savouring the way he feels. He groans as I palm his length, cursing softly, " _Fuck."_ Once it's on, I bring my hands to his hips, pulling him towards me. He nudges the head of his cock against my opening, but that's it - he's holding back, practically taunting me.

"Say it again," he orders roughly, with a luscious smirk, his eyes sparkling.

Feigning naivety, I ask, "Say what again?" 

He growls, leans in close, bites the sensitive spot between my shoulder and my neck. My slight cry is drowned out by his command: "Say. It."

"Fuck me," I plead, the words spilling out of me. "Please fuck me."

"Again."

"Please, Brian," I groan, grasping his hips tightly. "Fuck me. I need y-"

He thrusts, splitting me open, filling me - almost. I squeeze his hips and pull, urging him deeper. He kisses me, and I lose myself in the paired sensations - his cock deep inside me, his mouth meeting fervently with mine. Two Thursdays ago, we dragged this out, fucking slowly, indulgently, testing how long we could both last, letting it stretch on and on and on. Tonight, we just give into it, fucking hard, hard, harder, lasting just long enough that we're both slick with sweat and aching to come. When he sees that I'm close, Brian covers my mouth with his hand and accelerates the pace, fucking me with brutal intensity. Fuck _yes._ I lose all control, unwinding, screaming into his hand. Brian buries his face in the crook of my neck and moans my name, and curses, and comes.

_Justin, fuck, fuck..._

As we untangle, it echoes in my mind. I revel in it, the sound of him coming undone with my name bursting from his lips, the perfection of it. For a few minutes, that's all there is - the replay of his delicious moans in my mind, our slightly strained breathing surrounding us, and the thump of my heart echoing in my chest. Everything else is still and silent. There's not a single peep from down the hall. It would seem we got away with it.

"See?" Brian says, as he rolls away and removes the condom. "Parents fuck."

He lets me pull him close again, smiling as I kiss him and run my hands through his hair, damp with sweat. "The world didn't end, did it, Sunshine?"

"No, it didn't," I concede, arranging myself in his embrace. He sighs contentedly and kisses the top of my head. "It might tomorrow when Gus asks why half of my neck is fucking  _purple,_ you asshole."

Brian just laughs, the evil bastard, his chest shaking against my back. I elbow him. "How do you expect me to explain that?"

He presses a soft kiss to the nape of my neck and murmurs reassuringly, "You'll figure something out."


	9. Justin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin and Gus celebrate four months of being father and son. It doesn't go quite as perfectly as Justin had hoped it would.

I begin Friday morning with two important tasks: getting breakfast ready and hoping against hope that Gus won't ask about the love bite slashed across my neck. I really don't want to be given the third degree; it's way too early in the morning for that. I also have no idea how to explain it. So as I bring Gus and Brian breakfast, I keep my fingers crossed that Gus doesn't find the mark too intriguing. But as luck would have it, he finds it most curious. The very first thing Gus says to me when I set his breakfast down in front of him is, "What happened to your neck, Jus?"

Of course. I bide my time while handing Brian his plate and taking my seat next to him, trying to think of what to say. Since he got me into this situation and seems to think it's absolutely fucking hilarious, I kick Brian's leg under the table. It does nothing to stop him smirking behind his coffee cup. I smile at Gus and lie, "I hurt myself shaving."

"You need to shave?" Brian teases quietly. Thankfully, Gus is preoccupied with cutting his toast into soldiers and slathering each one with jam, so he doesn't notice his father being an asshole. 

"Eat your breakfast," I hiss, fixing him with a look. Brian grins and takes a bite of his toast, his shoulders still trembling with silent laughter.

Gus looks up from his toast platoon and eyeballs the purple mark marring my neck. "It looks like it hurt. Did it hurt?"

Anticipating his urge to make some sly, filthy innuendo, I pinch Brian's leg under the table to shut him up. I shrug at Gus. "It wasn't so bad."

Brian snorts. I kick him again, to absolutely no avail. Fortunately, Gus is too distracted to notice. He frowns and touches his own neck, looking incredibly concerned. "I don't want to shave if it does that."

"You might look good with a beard," Brian comments, smiling at Gus affectionately. Gus beams.

"I'll grow a big, long, scraggly beard. Like a pirate." He picks up two slices of toast, both of them drowning in jam, and offers them to us. "Want a soldier?"

"Thanks, kiddo." Brian grabs one and stuffs it in his mouth. "I'd better go or Cynthia will send out a hit squad."

"Cynthia wouldn't do that," Gus giggles, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I'm not the apple of Cynthia's eye, like some people I know," Brian says, kissing me quickly. He then zeroes in on Gus, picking him up and hugging him tight. Gus grabs onto him like a monkey, smooshing his face against Brian's shoulder.

"Have a good day, daddy," he mumbles, squeezing Brian extra hard.

Brian smiles and kisses Gus' head. "You're picking me up tonight, right?"

"We'll be there by four," I confirm, as they continue pouring all of their bodily strength into their embrace. Brian gives Gus one last, big squeeze and then sets him down gently. 

"Stay out of trouble," he says, grinning at me. "Gus? Watch him for me."

*

"Today," Gus informs me, very regally, as we march together along Fifth Avenue hand-in-hand, "Is a very important day. Do you know what today is?"

I suppress a smile and ask innocently, "Um... is it a holiday?"

"Nope," Gus laughs, tugging my hand as he weaves us expertly through the swarming crowds surrounding us.

"Is it someone's birthday?"

"No!" We stop at the corner of 5th and 58th, waiting for the traffic to let up. Gus grabs my other hand and swings our arms up and down excitedly. "Guess again!"

"Is it... an anniversary of something?"

"Sort of!" He beams at me, his eyes bright. "A monthiversary, maybe."

I grin at him. "Is it..." I pause thoughtfully. Gus watches me with wide eyes, bouncing up and down on his feet with anticipation. Grinning at him, I finish, "... the fourth monthiversary of the day I became your dad?"

"Yes!" He throws his arms around me and crushes me with a hug. "Today's the day. I counted it and everything."

I hold him close as he squeezes me with the same might he was attacking Brian with this morning. "Happy fourth monthiversary, buddy." 

Gus lifts his head and grins brilliantly at me. "Happy fourth monthiversary, Jus."

*

After some lengthy deliberation about how we should spend the day together, Gus suggests exploring Central Park. The aim, he declares, is to cover the entire park and see everything there is to see. I happily agree, because he seems endlessly excited, and I'm endlessly grateful to him and want to make our day together perfect. And so we head off to the park, with Gus insisting that we'll conquer every last inch of it.

As much as I admire his ambition, there is no way that's going to happen. It would take maybe a week with any other child, but with Gus? A month, maybe two, and even then only if we skipped meals. After tearing down Fifth Avenue with boundless enthusiasm, he hits the park and starts moving at a snail's pace. Every last detail is fascinating to him. He stops to read every plaque on every bench, and wants to climb on them and every other elevated surface he sees. There isn't a single wall or rock that gets bypassed. Gus climbs on all of them; hopping, skipping, tippy-toeing. He also requires photos of the park from every conceivable angle, and is anxious to try every kind of food from every stand we pass.

By mid-afternoon, we've covered maybe a tenth of the park, if that. I don't think Gus realises, though; he's consumed in his quest of scavenging for park artefacts. I currently have one pocketful of pebbles and another half-filled with leaves. Gus is up ahead of me, inching along the pathway, searching for more treasures. I'm content to hang back and watch him for now; he's utterly immersed in his hunt, scouring the pathway and the surrounding plantlife with vivid, wide-eyed curiosity.

He stands up suddenly, holding up another leaf. This one is bright red and smattered with holes. Gus twirls it between his fingers, watching it catch today's muted sunlight, grinning to himself. He stuffs it in his jacket pocket and jumps into the garden bed, hunting on his hands and knees. 

My phone buzzes in my pocket. It's Linz, asking after Gus. I update her on his current state (happy and healthy) and whereabouts (foraging in bushes for pebbles and leaves). Within seconds, she replies: _Tell him we love him and give him a hug from all of us. Love you honey - thank you for everything you're doing for him xoxo._ The sense of reassurance that hits me is dizzying. I text Linz back a quick thank you, although really, I owe her a lot more than that. Mel, too. I feel more confident today than ever before, but I still can't totally wrap my head around them trusting me to act as a parent to Gus. My gratitude for that is so immense I don't quite know what to do with it. All I know is, I owe them the world. Them, and Gus, and Brian. I'll just have to find a way to give it to them.

"Jus!"

Gus' excited cry rouses me from my thoughts. He's approaching me from quite a distance, but instead of running full-pelt at me like he normally would, he's taking tiny, measured steps. I pick up the pace and close the distance between us. Up close I can see that his hands are clasped gently together, his left cupping over his right. I kneel down to meet him at eye-level. "What've you got there, Gussy?"

"I found him in the bushes," Gus says, shifting his hand slightly to reveal a lizard cupped in his palm. His gaze locked lovingly onto the little creature, Gus proposes, "I want to bring him home with us. He could live in my room with me."

The lizard wriggles in Gus' hand, drawing excited laughter from Gus. As the cold breeze picks up, I cup my hands protectively around Gus'. He smiles at me. "Thanks, Jus."

"No problem. Does he have a name?"

After a moment of deep contemplation, Gus announces, "Mr. Lizard."

"Hi, Mr. Lizard," I say, touching his scaled back very lightly. I smile at Gus. "He's pretty cool."

"Yup," Gus agrees sunnily. "I can't wait to show him to daddy."

I am absolutely, extremely, three hundred percent sure Brian is not going to share Gus' enthusiasm for this tiny little reptile. Brian and creatures of the four-legged variety do not make for a happy pairing. This particularly squirmy, slippery four-legged creature is hardly going to prove an exception to that rule. There must be a way to talk Gus out of this.

Very carefully, I ask Gus, "Are you sure he'd be happy at home with us?"

"Yes," Gus nods eagerly. "I'd make him a little lizard bed and keep it on my nightstand and it would be _the best."_  


I start to melt at the idea of Gus fashioning a tiny little bed for this creature. He's looking at the lizard with the dreamiest expression; I almost can't bear to say no. That's my main weakness, I think, as far as parenting goes; I never want to say no to him. I suppose I ought to get in some practice while the getting's good. But I'm not just going to say  _no_ point-blank; I'm not a callous asshole like my father. I don't want to shut Gus down and destroy his lizard-centric dreams; I want him to understand my reasoning. 

Whilst trying to think of the best way to go about this, I ask, "You found him in the bushes, huh?"

Gus nods and points to the bushes in question, some of which he's taken with him. I start plucking stray leaves from his hair very delicately. "What was it like in the bushes?"

"Leafy and green! And kind of dark, especially for such a little lizard with his tiny lizard eyes." Gus bites his lip and smiles at me. "If I brought him home, I wouldn't have to be the shortest anymore. He's _so_ much tinier than me! See?"

"Yeah, I see. But is our apartment leafy and green?"

Gus' smile droops slightly. "No..."

I start combing my fingers through his hair to tidy it. "Would he have any lizard food or lizard friends if he came home with us?"

Gus pouts. "No."

"I think Mr. Lizard would be happier in the park," I explain, very gently. "Don't you?"

Gus starts to nod, but then his eyebrows shoot up. I can almost see the lightbulb forming over his head. He grins and suggests excitedly, "There's plants at daddy's office! We can take him there. It'll be leafy and green, and dark at night when all the lights go off. I could visit him whenever we go and visit daddy!"

His logic is sound, I'll give him that. Gus beams at me with pride, like he's sure he's convinced me. Just as I'm coming up with a counter-argument, Gus glances over my shoulder and frowns. He tugs lightly on my sleeve and whispers, "Um, Jus? Someone's staring at us."

"Huh? Where?"

"There's a man on the benches staring at us," he mumbles nervously, tucking Mr. Lizard into his coat pocket. "I don't like it. It reminds me of what Mrs. Harris taught us about stranger danger."

"Okay," I say, trying not to panic. I lift Gus safely into my arms and stand up as he winds his arms and legs around me. "Don't be scared. I've got you."

"You've got me," Gus echoes, burying his face in my shoulder. I kiss the side of his head, then I carefully turn around to see who the fuck is- "Oh, goddamnit."

I can't have one good week, can I? No, that would simply be way too much to ask. Someone would have to put an end to my perfect week with my perfect family, and of fucking  _course_ that person would have to be Ethan. God fucking damnit. And now he's noticed me noticing him. "Shit!"

" _Justin!_ " Gus goggles at me. Sounding totally appalled, he exclaims, "Those are  _really_  bad words!"

"Crap," I say, not thinking, once again. "Gussy, you didn't hear any of those words, okay?"

"Except that I did," he says, frowning judgmentally at me. Then there's a _very_ Kinney-esque spark in his eyes. "Or maybe I didn't."

"Yeah, you definitely didn't," I agree.

Lightning-quick, he retorts, "I didn't if you let me take the lizard home."

He is every bit Brian's child, from the calculating glint in his eyes to the conniving smirk I see growing. I give him a look (the one Mel always gives him when he's acting up; I have yet to perfect it, but I'm getting there) and say firmly, "No. You know Mr. Lizard needs to stay at the park."

"Or maybe... if you let me say those bad words?" He smiles winningly at me. "Just one time, to try them out?"

"That's funny, Gussy. That's  _real_  funny. Ha, ha, ha."

"Who said I was joking?" He quips, giggling. I ruffle his shock of soft brown hair and hug him close.

Meanwhile, Ethan has apparently decided to stop staring from a distance and is now approaching us. Fucking hell. I hold Gus against me like a suit of armour and prepare for my perfect week to burst into flames.

"Hi," Ethan greets us, his gaze flicking between me and Gus curiously. I don't say anything. There's nothing to say. He looks disappointed when I don't return his greeting, but I don't give a damn. I'm too busy trying to figure out an exit strategy. 

"Don't you know it's rude to stare?" Gus demands, staring at Ethan with intense distaste. It clearly catches Ethan off-guard. If only Brian were here - I bet he'd be glowing with pride right about now.

"I'm sorry," Ethan says, smiling at Gus, who stubbornly refuses to reciprocate. Since he's coming up empty on that front, Ethan turns his gaze to me and admits, "I couldn't tell whether it was you or not. It's been a while."

I wish it had been a while longer. Maybe, say, an eternity. Or an eternity and a half. If the universe really loved me (which it clearly doesn't), it might have even afforded me an eternity and three quarters.

"You know him?" Gus asks me flatly, still fixing Ethan with an ice-cold look of disapproval.

Ethan adopts one of those awful, chirpy voices that some adults misguidedly use with children and says, "I'm Ethan, I-"

"We went to school together," I cut in abruptly. Ethan looks dismayed. Gus looks bored.

A horribly awkward silence follows. When Ethan breaks it, I can't decide whether I should be grateful or not. Since it's _Ethan_ breaking the silence, I'm going to go with not. He smiles at Gus again and practically sing-songs, "And who are you?"

Wait, really? Gus looks like the product of someone blasting Brian with a shrink-ray. You can tell whose kid he is from a mile off. I study Ethan, trying to suss out whether he's being serious or not. Staggeringly, he seems totally genuine. That's one for the books.

"I'm Justin's  _son,"_ Gus explains, infusing this announcement with pride and condescension, as though it's the most wonderful, obvious thing in the world. It's the first time I've ever heard him say it like that; vivid, intoxicating happiness consumes me. Gus looks at me warily. "Can I tell him my name? He's not a stranger?"

"Technically, no, he's not," I sigh. "Go ahead."

"I'm Gus." Gus sticks his hand out for Ethan to shake. It makes me feel slightly queasy, watching Ethan grasp Gus' hand. I shift my weight and adjust my hold on Gus, which puts a little more distance between us and forces them to drop hands. Lifting his chin, Gus adds, "Gus Peterson-Marcus, and technically Kinney-Taylor, too. But that's way too long, so you can just call me Gus."

Recognition is dawning on Ethan's face, and he doesn't exactly look too pleased. Feeling ever so slightly smug about that, I smile tightly at him and give Gus a squeeze. "You remember Gus, right? Gussy, Ethan met you when you were really, really tiny."

Biting his lip, Gus says, "I guess it was before you were my dad, huh?"

"Before I was your dad," I confirm.

"Hmmph," Gus grumbles, displeased. "You should have always been my dad."

"Thanks, kiddo," I kiss his cheek. "I wish I'd been your dad from the beginning, too."

The implication is as loud and clear as I hoped it would be; Ethan flinches and stares at me, incensed. I fight the urge to smirk. That felt  _good._  Gus kisses my cheek in return and says, "It's okay. I still loved you the same."

"Me too."

He then explains to Ethan in an enviably patronising tone, "Justin wasn't always my dad, but I chose him as one anyway. Isn't that cool? I got to choose myself a second dad. Today is our fourth monthiversary."

"That's nice," Ethan says, his cheer clearly forced. Gus, clever thing that he is, picks up on this immediately and returns to scowling at Ethan.

"And now I have two moms and two dads, and they're all really awesome," Gus boasts. He wraps his arms tighter around my neck and announces proudly, "I love you, Jus."

I cuddle him close. "I love you too, buddy."

Ethan shifts uncomfortably. His gaze is locked on me; as soon as I meet it, I regret it. There's this strange look on his face - it's difficult to read, but it's hardly anything positive. But before I can try to figure out what exactly is going through his head, Gus grabs my hand and peers at my watch. "We have to pick daddy up from work."

"We do," I confirm, ridiculously relieved that Gus has given us an out. He really is the greatest kid in the world. "We can't be late."

"Daddy has special plans for us," Gus brags to Ethan, whose smile grows thinner and tighter. "He's taking us to a movie and then dinner."

Gus pokes my chest and urges, "Let's go, Jus, I don't want to keep daddy waiting."

"Me neither," I say, adjusting Gus' scarf and smoothing his hair. I can feel Ethan's gaze still pinned uncomfortably to me. It makes my skin crawl. I want to get out of here immediately, if not sooner. 

It would seem, though, that Ethan has no idea that I want exactly nothing to do with him. He smiles at me and suggests, "I'm in town for a few weeks. We should catch up sometime."

He then smiles at Gus again quickly, and adds, "You've clearly had a lot going on. I'd love to hear about... everything."

There's an edge to that  _everything_ that pisses me off, but I'm somewhat distracted by his suggestion of catching up. I have no idea what to say to that. I wish Brian was here right now. Or Daph. Daph would do in a pinch. But Brian's at work and Daph's an entire state away, and since I can't summon either of them at mere will, I'll have to handle this myself. First things first, though: "Gussy, go and put the lizard back."

In an effortless lie, Gus claims breezily, "I already did."

I pat his coat pocket knowingly. "Daddy is not going to be happy if there's a lizard set loose in his office."

"You don't know what daddy would think," Gus grumbles, as I set him down on the pavement. He plucks the lizard out of his pocket and scowls at me. "People have different opinions. You don't know all of them."

"That's absolutely right. However, I am very aware of your dad's opinion of four-legged creatures, especially reptilian ones, and especially those that are allowed to take up residence in his office space." I point to the garden bed. "Go and put Mr. Lizard back where he belongs. Find him a nice home, okay?"

Gus rolls his eyes and trudges off to find a home for the lizard. Ethan takes a step closer to me. I take a huge step back. He clears his throat and says awkwardly, "So I guess you and Brian-"

"I'm not doing this with you." I watch Gus as he climbs on top of a rock, stretching to place the lizard inside a high-up tree hollow. "Gus and I have somewhere to be."

He tries stepping closer again. "We can't catch up for all of five seconds?"

I take an astronomical step back. "I have nothing to say to you."

He seems stunned by this - maybe even a little outraged. "Are you seriously still-"

"I'm seriously still nothing," I reply coolly. "I don't care. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want my son talking to you. I'm absolutely certain Brian would feel the same way."

"Your son," Ethan repeats, slowly. There's a trace of incredulity to it that sends a rough flare of anger through me and makes me see red.

"Keep your fucking mouth  _shut_ about Gus," I snarl. "He _is_ my son."

This time, Ethan is the one taking a step back. I'd like to think Brian would be proud of that, too. Before I can say anything else, Gus comes running back over to us. I scoop him up in my arms. "Does Mr. Lizard have a nice new home?"  


Gus points to the tree. "Right in there."

He shows me his pockets to prove that the lizard is, indeed, gone and properly rehomed. I praise him and then instruct, "Gussy, say goodbye."

"Bye," he says, barely looking at Ethan, distracted by something off in the distance. This is one instance where I'm not going to be fucked correcting his bad manners. "Jus, can we get pretzels? I think daddy would want a pretzel."

He points to a pretzel stand near the park entrance and bats his lashes at me, the little terror. Luckily for Gus, I'm in just the right mood to eat my feelings. I kiss the top of his head. "I think you're right. Let's go get pretzels."

I glance at Ethan and decide to spare him a very brief goodbye, only because if I don't, Gus will sense something is up. So, with my skin crawling, I say, "Bye, Ethan." Before he's even done returning it, I turn away and walk Gus and myself out of the park.

*

As we head across town to collect Brian from work, Gus talks my ear off about what life could have been like for Mr. Lizard. Apparently, I've doomed the lizard to a life of uncertainty - now that he's been abandoned and left all alone in the park, he could get run over by cyclists, or trodden on by people walking by, or he could catch deathly cold, or he could simply die of loneliness. It sounds like a very sad life indeed. As Gus regales me with this tale of woe, I devour my pretzel and steal several bites of Brian's as well. I feel guilty as shit. So much for our perfect week - seeing Ethan has totally tanked my mood.

"I'm going to miss Mr. Lizard," Gus announces, dramatically morose, as I lead him into the elevator and let him push the buttons. He pouts and presses his finger to them lethargically. " _I_ think daddy would have liked him."

"Are you excited for the movie?" I ask, trying to steer him off the lizard. Gus nods and smiles up at me. I touch his chin. "Me too."

The elevator dings and the doors open. Brian is right there waiting for us. A sense of comfort washes over me just at the sight of him. 

"Daddy!" Gus shrieks, catapulting himself out of the elevator into Brian's open arms. With his face buried in Brian's shoulder, he mumbles, "We got you a pretzel. Me and Jus finished ours already. Jus was  _really_ hungry."

Or really, uncomfortably guilt-stricken, but I wasn't about to tell Gus that. I hand Brian his pretzel silently. As soon as our eyes meet, I know he knows something's wrong.

"I know you like the salty ones so I got you a salty one," Gus says, stealing a chunk of the pretzel for himself. 

"Thanks, kiddo," Brian says, but Gus is already gone, running towards Cynthia. She barely has two seconds to hug him before he's sprinting into Brian's office.

Brian coils an arm around my waist and kisses me. "You alright?"

"Pretty much," I say. He frowns at me worriedly, just as Gus calls out to us. I let him hold me closer, leaning into him, and we go to find Gus.

He's sitting in Brian's desk chair, looking like a teeny tiny little replica. Brian grins and goes to stand behind the chair so he can spin it. Gus giggles and giggles as he goes round and round. I sink into the chair across from them and announce, "We saw Ian."

"Ian?" Brian echoes, looking confused. I wait for it. It's mere moments until recognition hits and he repeats, tersely, " _Ian?"_  


Gus' brow furrows. "I thought his name was Ethan or Evan or something?"

"No, it was definitely Ian," I correct. Brian grins at me and snickers. The guilt starts to fade.

Seeming totally unaffected, Brian asks, "How was Ian?"

I shrug. "I didn't ask. It didn't seem all that important."

Brian smirks. The guilt fades a little more.

"He was kind of weird," Gus muses. "Were you friends with him, Jus?"

"Not exactly."

Leaning forward with a sense of intrigue, Gus asks, "Was he in one of your classes?"

I scramble to find the right words. "He was someone I had the misfortune of knowing, let's just put it that way."

Before Gus can launch one of his famous full-scale interrogations, Brian gives the chair a big spin. This delights and distracts Gus, who kicks his legs up in the air and shrieks with laughter. I smile at Brian gratefully.

"You might want to go and see Cynthia," Brian suggests, ruffling Gus' hair. "There's been a rumour going around... something about a new set of glittery pens for a certain someone?"

Gus bolts out of the room. Brian stops the chair from spinning and sits down. As he lounges in it, he eyes me curiously. "Come here."

I slink on over to him and let him tug me into his lap. He grasps my hand in his and winces. "Your hands are fucking freezing."

"It's cold out," I murmur. He locks his fingers through mine and guides our hands close to his mouth, then breathes over them. His hot breath tickles and warms my hand instantly. I slip the other inside his suit jacket and brush my fingers up and down his side.

"Let's return to my earlier question," Brian says, very officially. "Are you alright?"

"Mostly," I say, shrugging. Whilst kissing my knuckles, Brian raises his eyebrows at me. I ease closer to him and admit, "Okay, no, I'm not." 

"What's wrong?" Brian starts rubbing my hand in between his, making it toasty warm. 

"This week was perfect," I groan. "And today was supposed to be wonderful. It almost was, but then we had to go and bump into  _him_. I can't even begin to tell you how mortifying it was - having my idiotic mistake staring Gus right in the face."

Brian shrugs. "What does it matter?"

"It matters that Gus shouldn't have been anywhere near him."

He continues kissing my knuckles, one by one. "Don't worry about it."

"I thought it might upset you."

"Why would it?" He looks totally calm. More zen than Ben, even. "I mean, do I like the idea of that piece of shit being anywhere near you or our son?" 

My heart somersaults at  _our son,_  two words that are immeasurably meaningful to me.Brian smiles, like he knows the effect his words have just had on me, and continues, "No. I don't want him anywhere near you or Gus. But these things can't be helped."

"It was a total accident," I insist. "I promise."

Brian chuckles and grabs my scarf, pulling me in very close.

He kisses my cheek, my chin, the love bite he left on my throat. With his breath brushing against my neck, he whispers, "I trust you, you utter twat."

"Thank you." I kiss him gently. Apparently believing this to be wholly insufficient, Brian grabs the collar of my shirt and kisses me back deeply, urgently,  _possessively._ Muscle memory strikes; I find my hands gravitating towards his tie, ready to unknot it and slip it off. I have to force myself to stop. That process is made a hell of a lot easier when Gus comes bounding back into the room. He doesn't seem fazed at all by the kissing or the lap-sitting, which is a good thing because I don't think Brian has any intentions of letting me get up.

"I drew you both a picture." Gus presents it to us with a dramatic flourish. "It's what our family  _could_ look like if Justin wasn't such a party pooper."

Flashing a confused look my way, Brian takes the drawing from Gus. "What the- what is that?"

"It's Mr. Lizard," Gus says, scowling accusingly at me. "Ask _Justin_ what happened to him."

Then he runs off again. Brian stares at the drawing in horror - rightly so. Gus has drawn the lizard to the same proportions as me and Brian; at that scale, it looks fucking terrifying. Placing the drawing down on his desk and sliding it away, Brian asks cautiously, "What the fuck is Mr. Lizard?"

"Don't ask," I reply, grabbing his tie and dragging him in for another kiss. "I'm sure Gus will tell you all about him and the tragic fate to which he was so cruelly assigned."

From somewhere down the hall, Gus calls, "It's almost time for the movie!"

I get up and grab Brian's briefcase for him. As I hand it to him, Brian smiles at me. "You alright?"

"Yeah," I nod. "I was just thinking about something he said."

"Gus or Mr. Lizard?"

"Ian."

Brian wrinkles his nose and echoes distastefully, " _Ian_. What did he say? And did he say it with words, or through violin composition?"

"With words," I laugh. "This was back when were in the middle of breaking up. He... he told me I couldn't leave. He asked me if I was thinking about 'crawling back' to you, and then he told me there was nothing here for me."

I gesture between the two of us. "He said I'd never be happy with you."

Brian rolls his eyes. I step towards him and curl my hand around his forearm. "I knew he was wrong then. I just never knew _how_ wrong."

The smile that graces Brian's face is maybe the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. As he enfolds me in his arms, I murmur, "You make me so fucking happy."

He touches his forehead to mine. "Right back at you, Sunshine."

I kiss him softly and embrace him. Brian wraps his arms snugly around me, stroking my back tenderly. Over Brian's shoulder, I catch sight of Gus running back into the room. He smiles at me and asks, "Can we go?"

"Sure, kiddo," Brian says, half-releasing me from his embrace. He keeps one arm looped around me and extends the other to Gus. They interlock hands and we head out of the office.

Back in the elevator, Gus presses the button for the lobby, stabbing it enthusiastically. "Daddy, I came up with a cool name for today. Did Jus tell you?"

"No, he didn't." 

Gus grins with pride. "It's our fourth monthiversary."

"Your fourth monthiversary," Brian repeats, smiling at me with clear amusement (and only a miniscule trace of mocking). "How sweet."

"Four months ago was a great day," Gus muses as we make our way out of the elevator and the building. Brian lets me go and kneels down, letting Gus climb onto his shoulders. As Brian stands up, Gus grins down at me. "Today's even better."

I suppose, in the grand scheme of things, our run-in with Ian and the loss of Mr. Lizard didn't end up mattering all that much. Clinging to Brian as he sits atop his shoulders, Gus looks blissfully happy. In fact, they both do; they're even sporting matching smiles. It warms me, the sight of the two of them, smiling and laughing together, very nearly identical. There's a chill in the afternoon air that almost stings, but as we head downtown, I keep my focus on Gus and Brian and find it keeps me perfectly warm.


	10. Justin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Gus returns to Toronto, Brian and Justin struggle with his departure.

Gus' second week in New York is even busier than the first. He has a long list of things to do - sights to see, places to be, and things to buy for his friends back home. I happily comply, and the both of us run at full steam to get everything done. By the time Thursday rolls around, I'm exhausted. I just barely manage to drag myself to the airport to pick up Linz, who is staying a night and then taking Gus back to Toronto. She hugs me for five minutes straight, which alleviates my weariness, and then pleads for details about how Gus' time in New York has been. My first thought is to tell her about the paintings he's created at my studio, or our trips around the city, or how he sits and reads with Brian every night. But then panic hits, and all I can think to tell her is everything I've messed up.

"I probably gave him way too much sugar," I ramble as we drive home. This is simply the latest in a long string of anxious confessions. "And I swore in front of him. More than once. It was mostly Ethan's fault, but still. Oh, and he met Ethan, which was really weird and totally inappropriate, but it was an accident. I'd sooner gouge my eyes out than willingly spend time with Ethan, so-"

"Justin," Linz laughs, placing her hand on my knee. "Calm down, honey. None of this matters."

"It was a lot of sugar. Like, a  _lot,_ a lot."

She shrugs. "I'm in no position to judge. I'm hardly an exemplar of perfect nutrition. You should see the amount of baked goods he ingests at home."

That provides me some modicum of comfort... momentarily. "Um, he also stayed up late way too much-"

As I continue reeling through my sins, Linz's phone chimes. She rifles through her handbag for it and pulls it out. A frown forms on her face. "It's from Brian. He says...  _tell Sunshine to stop being such a colossal twat."_

"Did he bug the car?!" I exclaim, glancing around to see if there's any evidence of him listening in somehow. Linz peers at me cluelessly. I sigh and admit, "He thinks I'm being too hard on myself."

"You are," she agrees, tucking her phone back in her bag. "You're doing an amazing job."

"I feel like I could do a lot better."

Linz smiles to herself and muses quietly, "I feel the same way all the time. I have ever since Gus was born. Hell, since he was  _conceived."_

"But you're a wonderful mother."

"And you're a wonderful father. Besides, it's only been four months since we heaped this on you."

"You didn't  _heap_ this on me."

Linz hums thoughtfully. "Well, we sprung it on you, what with us letting Gus be the one to surprise you with it."

I shrug. "I'm glad it happened that way."

"Good," Linz murmurs, sounding a little relieved. "Anyway, four months is hardly anything at all. Give yourself more time. You don't have to be perfect at this right away. Or at all - I don't think there's such a thing as a perfect parent."

"I guess not."

She reaches over and curls her fingers around my forearm, squeezing gently. "So don't go chasing it."

"I won't," I promise.

"Tell me something you enjoyed," she urges. So I start to tell her the good parts - the days spent at my studio, the trips around the city, and his nightly reading sessions with Brian. By the time I'm done, Linz is grinning at me. 

"See?" She says, tussling my hair. "You're doing great, just like I knew you would."

*

As great as I might be, I can't slow down time, and I can't stop the inevitable from happening. The next morning arrives far too quickly, and it speeds by without sparing us a mere moment. Before I know it, it's half past ten and it's time for Gus and Linz to leave. Our time with him is up.

Brian walks Linz downstairs with Gus' luggage, and I walk Gus down, his tiny hand clasped in mine. He takes the stairs slowly, his every step miniscule. Not that I blame him, but it's obvious he's deliberately dragging out the process. Knowing they need to be on a plane soon, I squeeze his hand and urge, "Come on, Gussy."

He grimaces and picks up the pace by a fraction. It still takes forever to get him out of the building. By the time we're there, a cab is waiting. Gus hangs back, hiding behind me, and I can hear his breath coming in and out shakily. He keeps a death grip on my hand with both of his, until Brian calls out to him. Gus swallows heavily and releases my hand. As soon as he does, the lump in my throat swells and sinks, plummeting into my stomach. Linz comes and wraps her arms around me. She rocks me comfortingly and whispers, "You did good, baby."

"Thanks," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. Very gently, Linz pulls back and holds me at arm's length. She surveys me with a loving gaze and then embraces me again.

In a watery murmur, she confides, "I can't imagine anything better than raising my child with you and Brian. The two of you are incredible."

I close my eyes before tears can spill out. "Love you."

"Love you, too."

Brian is kneeling down, buttoning Gus' coat for him. When it's buttoned to his chin, Brian rests his hands on Gus' shoulder and says something to him, too quietly for me to hear. Gus steps in closer and whispers something back, his chin wobbling. There's a flash of agony across Brian's face, like lightning striking, but he quickly gathers himself and draws Gus into a hug and whispers something in his ear.

"Time to go, Gussy," Linz announces, tapping on the cab door. He glances at it uncertainly, then looks at me and leaps into my arms. I hug him fiercely, soaking up every last second. Then he charges at Brian and clings to him. Brian winces, visibly torn between the comfort of having Gus close and distress at the imminence of his departure. With Gus enveloped in his arms, Brian walks over to the cab and helps Gus into the backseat. He kisses Gus' forehead and clicks the seatbelt into place, tugging on it to ensure it's secure. He whispers something to Gus again, and Gus nods, his lip wobbling.

As Brian steps back to let Linz into the cab, Gus bursts into tears. I grab Brian's hand and he grips it painfully tight. Linz closes the door and the sound of Gus' sobs diminish. She smiles weakly at us and waves. I force myself to smile back at her. The effort it takes to keep a smile plastered on my face while Gus weeps is exhausting. Fatigue seeps into my bones. I glance at Brian, and he looks as weary as I feel.

Hand in hand, we watch the cab pull down the street. As soon as it's out of sight, Brian releases my hand. He clears his throat and says, "I need to get to work or I'll miss that meeting."

"Okay." I smooth his suit and straighten his tie as he hails another cab. "You'll be home tonight, right?"

"Right," he agrees, emptily. He kisses me, but it's hollow. I can see him shutting down right before my eyes and it hurts even more than seeing Gus cry. Brian picks up his briefcase and gets into the cab without so much as a goodbye.

*

I know, by now, that this is what Brian does. He pulls away, shuts down, removes himself from the situation. I know that, today at least, he has a very good reason for doing so. He can't exactly go into a meeting with one of his biggest clients and spend it angsting over Gus. I know he needs to present a strong front. 

I also know that he'd prefer to be left alone, but fuck that. I'm worried about him, so much so that I can't focus on anything else. So I go to see him. I make a few stops along the way, knowing it won't do to show up empty-handed. Once I'm armed and ready, I call Cynthia to check that I won't be getting in the way. I soon have the all clear from her, and so I start planning my entrance. I don't want to corner Brian or pressure him. I don't want us to end up in some huge, ugly, raging fight, as has been known to happen. I know he's raw right now, distraught, and needs to be handled gently.

When I arrive, Brian is at Cynthia's desk, talking to her. At a distance, he looks just fine. He's assembled himself perfectly, boasting a flawless veneer of composure. It cracks a little when he sees me; I catch relief flashing across his face. I smile at him, as best I can, and practically leap into his open arms.

As he all but drowns me in a hug, Cynthia smiles adoringly at me. "Hey, sweetie."

I hand her a coffee from the tray I'm carrying. "Hey, Cyn. Has he been behaving himself? Be honest."

"Just barely," she teases. Brian gives her a look and sweeps me into his office, closing and locking the door behind us.

"I thought I wasn't seeing you until tonight," he says, smiling at me. It's slight, and strained, but it's a good start. 

"Yeah, I know that was the plan... but then I went to that place you love on Prince Street to grab stuff for dinner, and I saw these." As Brian goes to sit down at his desk, I rifle through the shopping bag and pull a box of macarons out. His eyes light up. "I thought they might help you prepare for the Clarkson meeting. That's in an hour, right?"

A lazy grin graces his face. "That's right, and they might."

"Well, you have plenty of time to test my theory. I also got you coffee," I say, handing him the other cup from the tray. He lifts the cup to breathe in the scent. "The good stuff. The not-from-the-office-coffee-machine coffee. And I only drank a bit of it on the way over."

"Define 'a bit'," Brian snarks accusingly. I grin and shrug at him.

He jumps up again and comes over to kiss me. Up close, it's impossible to miss how miserable he looks. I'm sure he'll be fine for the meeting, I'm sure all of his colleagues (except for Cynthia) are fooled, but I know he's not doing at all well right now. I touch his arm and ask, "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he says, even though we both know he isn't. I wrap my fingers delicately around his forearm and squeeze. To my relief, this draws a smile out of him, one that vanishes the anxiety plaguing his features momentarily. "Linz called. She and Gus got home safe."

"Good. Was he..." I hesitate, because I already know the answer to this question, but I suppose I need to ask it anyway. "Was he okay?"

"He calmed down by the time they got to the airport, but she wouldn't let me talk to him when she called." Brian sighs and grasps the back of his neck. "I could hear him crying in the background."

Fuck. Now I want to cry, but I can't. It's my job to be the strong one right now. I place my hands on Brian's hips and nudge him backwards, dropping him into one of the armchairs facing his desk. He smiles as I settle in his lap; I focus on growing that smile, and I start by kissing his neck.

But before I can get much further, the intercom beeps and Cynthia's voice comes over the line. "Brian? Liam is on line three."

"I have to take that," he says, every word heavy with regret. 

I cup his face in my hands and kiss him. "See you tonight?"

He smiles again, but this time, it's so forced it hurts. "I'll be home by seven."

*

He isn't, though. 7pm comes and goes, and Brian is nowhere to be seen. With every passing minute, my fears escalate. By 7.25pm, I've convinced myself that he's off at some bar, avoiding me and drinking himself into oblivion. Fortunately, at 7.26pm, Brian proves me wrong. I hear the door click open and within seconds he's striding into the kitchen, arms burdened with files and grocery bags. He sets everything down and comes at me, devouring me with a kiss. In no time, he's dissolved my fears; I am reassured, elated, and somewhat breathless. He smiles at me. "Sorry I'm late. I would have called, but my phone's dead."

"Don't worry about it." I wrap my arms around him and draw him into a hug. 

"What's all this?" He asks, gesturing to the kitchen island, which I've been working at all afternoon. 

"Dinner," I say, reaching to loosen his tie. "I thought it might be nice to have a homecooked meal that doesn't involve ketchup, or tater tots, or cheese-coated vegetables."  


He chuckles and nods appreciatively. "So what are we having?"

"Lasagna, focaccia, and tomato-basil salad." I kiss the hollow of his throat and murmur, "Your favourites."

Brian touches his thumb to my chin, angling it up so he can kiss me. He smiles adoringly at me. "A job well done as always, Suzy Homemaker."

"Shut up," I laugh, swatting his arm. "Make yourself useful and pour us some drinks. Make mine something strong."

When we sit down for dinner, it's to the sound of a very silent apartment. Gus isn't next to Brian, rattling off an excited recount of how our day was spent. He isn't running around the table, offering to pour our drinks for us, or climbing into Brian's lap, or... anything. He's back in Toronto, hundreds of miles away. Everything is eerily quiet without him, and lonely, too. It's just the two of us, with our alarmingly strong drinks for company. I can't stand the silence. I decide I have to break it. There's something that's been bothering me all day, even more than Gus' palpable absence, and that's what he and Brian were talking about this morning.

I can't be fucked easing into this topic of conversation. I just cut right to the chase and ask, "This morning, when you were saying goodbye to Gus... what did he say to you?"

Brian's mouth quirks, wavering somewhere between a smile and a grimace. Pained, he confesses, "He asked me why he can't see us all the time."

"Fuck," I murmur.

"Yeah. Fuck."

Silence falls between us, threatening to divide us. Before it can, I say, "Linz said something to me."

Swirling his whiskey around in his tumbler, Brian asks, "What?"

"She said she can't imagine anything better than parenting with us. She said that we're incredible."

This doesn't achieve the result I hoped it would. I had hoped it might comfort Brian, that it might provide some reassurance. But, instead, he scoffs and mutters, "How the fuck am I supposed to be 'incredible' when he's there and I'm here?"

Then he downs the entire tumbler of whiskey and starts pouring himself another. He jerks the bottle at me, an undignified offer of more, but I shake my head. Even though I've barely made a dent in my dinner, my appetite has vanished. If I keep drinking, I'll regret it. Brian shrugs and sets the bottle down.

"You're a great father," I say, knowing immediately that he's going to knock it back.

"Am I?" Brian laughs bitterly. "He's in fucking Toronto. He never sees me. He needs- he  _deserves_ more than that, but fuck if I know how to give it to him."

He gets to work on draining his very generous helping of whiskey. I stand up and walk to his side of the table. He slams down the glass and then just sits there, not moving a muscle, not encouraging me to come closer, not even looking at me. I refuse to be deterred. I reach out and stroke my hand from the base of his neck to its nape, then across the line of his shoulders. He closes his eyes, his face relaxing slightly as I caress him. Once I'm sure I'm not intruding, I wrap my arms around him, keeping him close, holding him tight. Brian sighs shakily; the unsteady sound of it works like a weight inside my chest. My heart feels like stone; one that's been buried deep, where it's been left to turn cold. I kiss the side of Brian's head, seeking out warmth from him. After a while, he wraps an arm around me and tugs me into his lap. I press a kiss to his temple and listen as he confesses, "I feel utterly fucking useless."

I don't say anything, I don't contradict him or try to reassure him - I focus on weaving my hand through his hair, curling the strands around my fingertips. Brian breathes in deep and, much to my relief, continues. "Long distance is fucking bullshit. It was bullshit when we were doing it, so why the fuck do we expect it to work with him? It's not fucking fair. What am I supposed to do? Write to him? Send him shit to try and buy his love? Beg the munchers to bring him here or let us visit?"

Suddenly, he twists his head and stares at me expectantly. Shit, I didn't realise he'd be open to contributions this soon. This is unprecedented - as such, it takes me a moment or two to catch up. 

"You don't need to beg," I say, punctuating this with a soft kiss to his forehead. He grasps my thigh and massages it as I continue, "Mel and Linz are happy to work with us on this. You know that."

He grumbles, slightly disbelievingly. 

"And you  _don't_ need to buy Gus' love. You already have it."

"How the fuck do I _keep_ it? I'm too far away." He shakes his head, and laments tiredly, "I call him every day, it accomplishes nothing, I just miss him more."

"Really? It accomplishes nothing?"

Brian shrugs, grabs his fork, and shoves a huge bite of lasagna in his mouth. I run my hand up his forearm in one long, soothing stroke. "You're not giving yourself enough credit. Gus lives for your phone calls.  _You_ live for those phone calls. They accomplish a fuck of a lot."

He clearly isn't buying it. Thankfully, there's something I've been waiting to tell him, which I'm almost certain will make all the difference now. Peppering kisses to his brow, I ask, "You know that report Gus wrote about me?"

Brian nods.

"It's part of a unit his class is doing on role models. Mel was telling me all about it - she called earlier in the week to remind Gus about the next homework activity. They're having a hero dress-up day. Guess who he's going as?"

"I'm not in a guessing mood," he says sullenly. "Who is he going as?"

"You." I grin at Brian, pleased to see a big, awestruck smile forming on his face. "We decided on Tuesday and planned it all out; he's planning on wearing his suit, and doing his hair like yours, and he even asked to borrow one of your ties."

His smile falters. "What did you say?"

"Um," I chuckle nervously, "I told him to choose one?"

Brian narrows his eyes at me. "Which one did you give him?"

"The navy Dior? I was waiting for the right moment to tell you." I burst out laughing as he glowers at me. "I can see this was so not it."

While still glaring at me, Brian asks quietly, "Is he really dressing up as me for hero day, or are you absolutely full of shit and just trying to make me feel better?"

I slap his arm. "Now who's being a twat? I am trying to make you feel better, but I'm not bullshitting you. Gus and I were sitting right over there, on the couch, and he said he wanted to go as you. Except, when he tells you about it, you have to act surprised. I wasn't supposed to say anything... I just thought it might help."

Brian rests his head on my shoulder. "Thank you. It does help... I needed to hear that."

"He loves you," I say, stroking his hair soothingly. "And I know it's going to be rough, being so far away from him most of the time, but I believe that you can still be a great father to him."

"We," Brian corrects, quietly. "We can be great fathers."

"That's the spirit," I commend, grinning at him. He returns it, and it doesn't look so weak or strained anymore. "I'm so glad I get to do this with you. You're the kind of father I want to be."

Brian scoffs. I slap his arm. "You  _are."_

Shaking his head, he retorts, "You're the kind of father I want to be."

He's not just saying it. I can tell he means it;  _really_ means it,  _really_ believes I'm worth looking up to in this regard. I could fight him on this and tell him how much better he is at this than I am, but just as it's on the tip of my tongue to do so, it occurs to me that we don't need to battle this one out. I smile at Brian and say, "Well, if I'm the kind of father you want to be, and you're the kind of father I want to be, then I guess it's good we have each other."

A smile stretches over his face, spilling light and warmth everywhere. The apartment doesn't feel so lonely anymore. My heart no longer seems to be made of stone. I kiss him, and he returns it avidly. The weight that's been dragging me down all day lifts, shrinks, disappears, and I feel like everything's going to be okay.


	11. Justin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmastime and Justin and Gus' fifth monthiversary. Gus getting sick isn't the only unpleasant surprise in store for Justin.

"I'm sorry I ruined our fifth monthiversary, Jus," Gus groans, slumping against the passenger door of the car. His bottom lip wobbles. "I didn't mean to."

"You haven't ruined anything," I say, reaching over to stroke his hair soothingly. We were at the ice-skating rink when he took a nasty turn, complaining of a tummy ache and dizziness. Now we're driving home and he seems to be worsening by the minute. He's all pale and his forehead feels clammy to touch. "We're going to get you home and get you into bed, and it'll all be okay."

He twists in his seat unhappily. I tap his shoulder and suggest, "Look out the window - there are snowmen all along the street. Maybe we can build one later."

Gus whimpers and hangs his head. He's in no mood for Christmas cheer. Clutching his tummy, he whines, "I want to be sick."

"Do you need me to pull over?"

He pauses, then shakes his head. "No, I just wanna go home."

"We're almost there," I promise, turning onto mom's street. It's lined with cars; one of mom's neighbours is having a Christmas party. All of Pittsburgh is bustling with holiday activity. Well, all of Pittsburgh except for poor Gus. I look over at him and see tears brimming in his eyes. "Gussy?"

"Yeah?"

"You know how I want to spend today?"

"How?"

"Making you feel better."

He smiles weakly at me. I turn into mom's driveway and turn off the engine. Gus reaches for the door handle feebly, but I stop him and say, "Let me."

He nods and sags in his seat. I undo his seatbelt and jump out of the car, running around to his side. As I'm scooping him up in my arms, the front door opens and Molly steps out. She frowns at me. "You're back already?"

"Gus isn't feeling well," I explain, carrying him towards the house.

Molly glances over her shoulder anxiously, then looks at me and mouths  _I'm sorry._ Before I can ask her what she means, dad steps out of the house.

Dad. My father. Craig. Shit, I still haven't figured out what to call him, and now he's standing right here in front of me. Fuck.

He glances at Gus, frowns, and then looks at me. "Justin. How are you?"

"Fine," I reply, slightly stunned. I wasn't prepared for this today. 

Molly clearly wasn't prepared either. She looks like she wants to evaporate from awkwardness. I nod towards Gus, who's just about to drift off to sleep in my arms. "Mol, can you take him upstairs? Is mom here?"

"She went to meet Brian at the shops. He needed help with the presents, apparently."

Of course. It's been almost a month since we last saw Gus and, despite my best efforts to reassure him, Brian feels massively guilty about being so absent from Gus' life. In order to assuage his guilt, Brian has been buying out every children's store in Manhattan, and would now appear to be ransacking the Pittsburgh locations, too. It doesn't surprise me one bit that he requires mom's help. With a sigh, I confide in Molly, "He'll probably come home with trailers attached to his car and mom's. He's impossible."

Dad shifts, clearing his throat quietly. I glance at him, anticipating some nasty remark about Brian, but it never comes. He just stares down the street.

"Justin, here." Molly stretches out her arms and I gently arrange Gus in them. He moans softly and curls into Molly. She smiles and blushes. "Jeez, he's even adorable when he's sick."

"It's not fair, is it?" I laugh. "You look disgusting when you're sick."

Molly sticks her tongue out at me. She then turns to dad and says, "Bye, dad. Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, honey," he says, smiling at her. That 'honey' feels like a shot to the heart. The affectionate smile is like him digging his hand into the wound to push the bullet deeper.

Molly cuddles Gus close and disappears inside with him. This leaves me in the most awkward situation I've ever encountered. And I thought it was bad running into Ethan - this is infinitely more awful. At least I knew where I stood with Ethan. That's completely cut-and-dried. But this... I don't know what to do with this.

Dad closes the front door behind him, looking anywhere but at me. 

"So that's Gus," he says quietly.

"That's Gus," I confirm.

He nods. "Molly told me all about it."

"She's an amazing aunty to him."

That's all I can think to say. Apparently, dad's coming up empty too. Painfully awkward silence falls between us. It's broken when dad sighs and requests, "Walk with me? My car's parked a block or so away."

He gestures irritably to the cars packed up and down the street. "It's been like this for hours."

Hours. I haven't seen him in years, but he spends _hours_ with Molly. I wish it wouldn't, I tell myself not to let it, but I can't help it - it stings.

Since I'm stuck for anything else to say and totally dumbfounded by this entire situation, I agree quietly, "Sure."

We start down the path together. It doesn't feel at all real. Maybe Gus gave me his bug and I'm having some sort of bizarre fever dream. But I can feel the pavement underneath my feet, and the winter wind is blistering cold against my face, and every so often dad's arm brushes against mine and I know it's not some hallucination. This is really happening.

It takes him until the end of the street before he says anything. "So how's New York?"

It sounds so withdrawn, I wonder why he even bothered at all. I shrug and slip my hands into my pockets; my gloves are back in the car, and it's fucking freezing. Dad's frosty demeanour sure as shit isn't helping. "It's great. Brian's still building up Kinnetik, it's going great. We have an apartment-"

"Justin," he cuts in, sounding fed up already. That didn't take long. "What are you doing?"

Very carefully, I respond, "I'm walking you to your car, as per your request."

He huffs. "I mean with this guy and his kid."

That's more like it. I don't need to feel the pavement underneath my feet or the wind against my face to discern reality here. My father, dad, Craig,  _whoever_ this guy is, is back to being a total and utter asshole. 

I take a breath to steady myself. It doesn't help much. As tension mounts between us, I demand, "By 'this guy' do you mean  _Brian_ , my partner? And by 'his kid', do you maybe mean  _our_ kid, Gus?"

Dad stops by his car and leans against it, assessing me with a critical gaze. "This isn't what I wanted for you."

"No, you wanted me locked up in a jail cell," I spit, glaring at him. "Is that where you'd rather I be? Imprisoned?"

His mouth twists. "Aren't you?"

Anger seeps through me. I'm so furious that my mind is a blank; it's a wall of empty rage. Craig (not dad, not my father, not  _anything)_ takes my silence as an invitation to continue talking. "This guy picked you up when you were  _seventeen._ You've given the best years of your life to him now, and for what? To be lumped with the responsibility of a child that isn't yours?"

Bile rises in my throat. I can't breathe. Dad steps closer to me and says, imploringly, "I don't deny that this child deserves a better father, but-"

"Fuck you!" I shove him backwards, not too hard, but hard enough that he stumbles back against the car. He looks shocked, but what the fuck did he think I was going to do? Nod along politely? "Fuck  _you,_ you piece of shit. Don't you dare talk about Brian like that."

Indignantly, dad beings to argue, "He's-"

"Shut the fuck up!"

Fury flashes in his eyes. "Don't you talk to me like that. I'm trying to help you-"

"How? How are you trying to help me? Please, enlighten me!"

"That's exactly what I'm trying to do - I am trying to enlighten you to the fact that this... this  _pervert..._ is not someone you should be wasting another second on. He's stolen your youth, and if you're not careful, he'll do even more damage."

His every word lands like a punch. It's like he's been saving up during the years we've spent apart, and now I'm being subjected to an onslaught of hatred. I can't stand any of this - how delusional he is, how self-important, how he thinks he can come back into my life now and tell me what to do. But what really gets me is the way he's talking about Brian; it makes me sick. Acrid bile is burning the back of my throat, while my stomach forms tight knots that feel like they've been set in concrete. And while I'm standing here, struggling not to be violently ill, dad is still going on and on and  _on_ about Brian. He spews out degrading, callous terms that sound totally foreign in relation to Brian. I hate him. Fuck, I hate him so much it hurts.

I grab his arm and shove him roughly, rougher than the last time, rough enough to stun him into silence. Suddenly, I'm shouting. " _Shut the fuck up._ Brian is my partner. He's a good person - shit, he's the _best_ person I know, and I love him. I will fucking _destroy you_ if you say another word about him."

I'm yelling so loud that it's painful, and as tempting as it is to continue, he's not worth it. He's not. I force myself to calm down and lower my voice. I also take a step back, just far enough that it's not possible to hit him. I really want to. I want to strike him right across his face. But I won't. I take a deep breath and continue softly, "You think I'm imprisoned with him? Fuck. You. I was imprisoned with  _you."_

He rolls his eyes. He  _rolls_ _his eyes._ It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to punch him. Bitterly, he spits, "Grow up, Justin."

Then he unlocks his car and opens the door. Just as he's getting inside, I grab the door so he can't close it. "I want to be clear about something."

"What?" He stares at me like I'm nothing but an obstacle, a burden, an unnecessary thing he wants to be rid of. The feeling is entirely mutual. 

"I've spent the last five months thinking about what it means to be a father," I say, staring him dead in the eye. I want him to know I'm not afraid. The downside, though, is that I'm forced to witness the disgust in his gaze. I'm reminded, painfully, that he finds me repulsive. I don't let it show, but it eats away at me. "I've been obsessing over it, and yet, I still don't have the answers. At least, not all of them. I do know one thing though - you are not what a father should be. You're not my father. You haven't been in years. You're nothing to me."

His gaze drops. Glaring at the steering wheel, he asks in a low voice, "Are you quite done?"

"Completely," I snap. "You can fuck off now."

"Gladly," he spits.

I slam the car door forcefully, pleased when he flinches. Then I turn and stride away, ignoring the sound of his car starting up, ignoring him as he drives past, ignoring everything except what's in front of me. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home.

I am furious, on the verge of tears, wanting to scream, wanting to hurt my father as badly as he's just hurt me. I don't know what else I expected. I shouldn't have gone with him, I shouldn't have given him another second of my time. He showed his true colours years ago - was I really expecting him to change?

When I get back inside, I realise I don't want to be home. Now that I'm here, it hits me: I'm trapped. There's no time to scream or cry, to indulge the rage that is thriving within me. Molly is waiting for me, ready with a million apologies that I don't want to hear. I don't want her to be sorry. I tell her it's okay, that she can still see dad if she wants to, that it's no big deal.

But it is. It is a big fucking deal. It is. I love Molly, I love her beyond words, but right now, I hate her. I hate her for things beyond her control, things that aren't her fault, things that she still doesn't completely understand. How can she? Nobody has ever really been honest with her about me and dad. She doesn't know about him attacking Brian. She doesn't know all the horrible things he's said to me. She has no idea he got me arrested. All Molly knows is that we don't get along, that we don't talk, that we're not in each other's lives any more. She doesn't realise that I fucking  _hate_ him. She doesn't realise how little he thinks of me and the people I love. She doesn't realise his capacity for cruelty. She's lucky, she is  _so fucking lucky,_ that she has never been on the receiving end of it.

She has no idea that I hold her relationship with dad in the palm of my hand. I could crush it, easily, and make her hate him the way I do. But I can't. I won't. It's not him I'm protecting - it's her. I don't want her to hurt the way I've been made to hurt. So I tell her it's all fine, and not to worry, and I pretend that I'm okay and try to hide the fact that I am sick with anger. Then I go upstairs to see Gus.

There's definitely no time to scream or cry now. Gus needs me. He's lying in bed, bundled under the sheets, whimpering miserably. I swallow my fury and sit with him, stroking his damp hair, soothing him with gentle words, holding a hot water bottle to his tummy. I feed him sips of tea and soup that Molly brings to us. I read him his favourite stories. I tell him over and over, "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay."

I'm trying to convince myself more than anything. It doesn't work. It's not okay. I'm not okay. I'm not okay. I'm not okay.

*

As soon as Gus is asleep - properly asleep, deep asleep, just-shy-of-comatose asleep - I go and sit in the guest bathroom. It's close enough that I'll hear if he calls, but far enough that I feel like I'm on my own, like I need to be right now. Isolation is exactly what I need.

I sit with my back against the wall and stare at the white tiles until my vision blurs and everything is blank. All I am left with is myself, a blurred vision of whiteness, and thoughts of my father.

My father is a lot of things. I can reel off a huge, comprehensive list of all the things he is - a total piece of shit, a hateful bigot, a scumbag with unchecked anger issues… and that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

He is also a part of me, even after all these years. I have stopped thinking of him as my flesh and blood - biological and familial connections aren’t worth shit where he’s concerned. No, he’s a part of me in a much more insidious way. He’s a scar. 

I imagine the scar actually existing sometimes; I picture it running from my sternum to my gut. This is something one of my therapists told me to do once -  _visualise your wounds, Justin, create images of your scars, know them, come to terms with them._ For years now, this particular scar has been fading. I’ve thought of it as something once-painful that will leave me soon enough. But seeing him today, coming face to face with him, has torn the scar wide open again. He might as well have grasped my flesh and ripped it apart himself. Now the wound is gaping, raw, aching. It's so violently painful I can almost taste blood in my mouth.

Before I know it, I am pulled back to other memories. I sink into them, foolishly indulgent, until I find myself submerged in agonising recollections. Brian screaming my name in a panic. Blinding pain against my skull. Blasts of light and force in Babylon, throwing me backwards, smoke pouring, people wailing for respite...

Why the fuck am I so fucking weak? I hate this. I hate myself. I hate myself. I fucking hate myself. I'm _really_ trapped now. Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

Suddenly, I hear something other than aluminum cracking against bone, something other than panicked cries, something other than everything that has haunted me for years. It's mom and Brian. They're talking to Molly downstairs. She's probably telling them that I saw dad. She's probably telling them I've been hiding in the bathroom for fuck knows how long.

I feel sick. I don't want either of them - or anyone - to find me like this. I try and piece myself back together, but there are shards scattered everywhere. Even if I managed to assemble them in time, I doubt they'd end up forming a whole. There are pieces that went missing - that were taken from me - years ago. Still, I try my best. I recall instructions given by my therapist -  _breathe, be mindful, stay present, be gentle with yourself -_ and manage to recover some of my composure.

I hear them ascending the stairs, going in together to check on Gus. I hang my head in my hands and wait. Soon enough, there's a knock at the door. I don't have it in me to respond. I'm scared that if I try to talk, I'll cry. Fortunately, I don't have to say anything. Brian opens the door, takes one look at me, and slips inside the bathroom. He closes the door behind him and comes to sit down next to me. 

Thankfully, he doesn't say anything. He remains perfectly silent. He always knows what I need when I'm like this. He always gives me exactly what I'm craving. Right now, I have no idea what that is, but I'm sure he'll figure it out and deliver it. I wait, wondering what's next.

Anger is thrumming just underneath the surface of my skin. As Brian takes my hand in his, I'm almost sure he can feel it - that surge of rage that I'm only barely containing. He must feel it. The way he touches me is like an acknowledgment, an admission of empathy, an attempt to unburden me. Brian's fingers link through mine, his thumb grazing the heel, then the heart, of my palm. He lifts our joined hands and guides them closer to him. I shut my eyes, surround myself with calm blackness, and feel his shuddering breath graze my wrist. Then come his lips. Brian kisses my inner wrist once, twice, three times, then draws my hand over his heart and holds it there.

I want to find Craig Taylor, shake him until his vision blurs, and scream until my throat blisters:  _Brian is a good person and **you are not.**_

After a long while, Brian releases his grasp on my hand. He snakes his arm behind me and coils it around my hips, gently drawing me closer. I lean into him, heavily, and he sighs softly, against the top of my head. He guides me even closer, pulling my full weight against him. I don't know why, but that destroys my resolve. I start to cry. It's just tears falling down my face at first, but soon it's sobs bursting from my throat, and soon my body is racked with the force of my grief. Brian pulls me so I'm lying across his lap, my face pressed against his thigh, which thankfully muffles the volume. I don't want mom to hear. I don't want Molly to hear. I especially, more than anything else, don't want Gus to hear. 

Brian must sense my hesitation. His hand comes to rest at the nape of my neck, keeping me close, letting me sob into his leg. Tenderly, he urges, "Let it out."

It's all the permission I need. I cry until my eyes are red-raw and my throat is sore. Brian stays silent, but his touch speaks volumes. He holds me tightly in his arms, clutching me to him. He runs his hand up and down my back, trying to soothe me. It helps a little. It's a slow remedy, but a remedy nonetheless.

Eventually, I stop crying. Mostly it’s because the tears have almost run out and my lungs are burning. I can't go on. I can't. Brian gently grabs my shoulders and holds me at arm’s length, encouraging me to breathe deeply. As I do so, slowly and carefully, he wipes the tears from my face. Then he asks, “Want to go for a walk?”

"What about Gus?"

"Your mom's with him." Brian stands up and offers me his hand. I take it, and he leads me out of the house.

It's dark outside now, and the streets are lit up with Christmas lights. Brian slips his arm around my waist and lets me lean against him as we walk block after block after block. Every house we pass is draped with seemingly endless lights, glowing and twinkling. This provides some modicum of comfort. Gradually, the pain radiating through me diminishes, until it's just a low throb in the center of my chest. 

We reach the park and find a bench to sit down on. Holding me snugly to him, Brian asks, "What are you thinking?"

I am thinking that it's time to cut my father off entirely. He’s not my ‘dad’, he’s not my ‘father’ in any meaningful sense. He’s someone who hates me. Maybe not as much as Chris Hobbs or whoever planted that bomb at Babylon, but he hates me nonetheless, and it’s nothing but painful and toxic and damaging. I need to be done with him. I might have told him that earlier today, but saying it and doing it are two very different things. Now that I've told my father that I'm finished with him, I need to follow through.

I tell Brian this, my voice scratchy and faint. He nuzzles me and whispers, “He’s not worth another second of your time.”

"You read my mind," I murmur.

Brian touches my chin, tilts it up, and catches my mouth with his. Comfort washes over me. His kiss starts off gently, then deepens, and deepens, until I'm immersed in it. He always knows what I need. He always gives me exactly what I'm craving. Craig Taylor doesn't know shit - Brian didn't steal the best years of my life. He shared them with me and, undoubtedly, made them better. He's my partner. He trusts me with his - _our_ \- son. He's the best person I know. With his arms around me and his lips pressed to mine, the pain in my chest fades away. I picture the open wound, running from my sternum to my gut, being stitched back together. It's not what it was yesterday - a faint, clean, pink line. Now, I'm picturing it jagged and bound with messy stitches. But it's closed and, with time, it will heal. I'll make sure of that. 


	12. Daphne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still reeling over his run-in with Craig, Justin goes to Daphne to seek out comfort.

Late night phone calls freak me the fuck out. They almost  _never_ happen for a good reason - except, maybe, for the few times Justin calls from New York with hot gossip, but those tend to be pre-arranged. It's the unscheduled ones that you have to worry about. It's the unscheduled ones that are absolutely terrifying.

My phone starts ringing at ten past eleven, which isn't tragically late, but it's late enough that a coil of anxiety tightens in my belly. Since Justin hasn't arranged for a late night gossip session, I'm struck with panic as I scramble to pick it up. "Hello?"

"Daphne." It's Brian, and even though I sense he's trying not to, he sounds like shit. My stomach sinks.

"What's wrong? Is everything okay? What happened?"

"Nothing," he replies, sounding bewildered. Then, with immense concern, he demands, "Are you okay?"

I sigh. "I'm fine. I thought something was wrong. Something _must_ be wrong. You're calling me late and you're not even trying to flirt with me."

I _swear_ , I can hear him smirking as he purrs, "My mistake. What are you wearing?"

I elect to ignore that and opt to push him, because I know something's happened; underneath the smoldering flirtaciousness, I can clearly hear that he's distressed. "Brian, what's going on?"

As soon as I've said this, there's a knock at the door. Brian must hear it too. His tone growing weary again, he explains, "That's Sunshine. Be careful with him, okay?"

Then, on that absurdly ominous note, he hangs up. He hangs up! Stuck somewhere between fuming and fearful, I go to answer the door. As Brian cryptically promised, it's Justin. 'Sunshine' hardly seems fitting right now; he looks like shit. His face is drawn of almost all colour, except for the red circles under his eyes. He looks totally exhausted, and I don't think it's the kind of problem a good night's sleep is going to fix. I have no earthly idea what's wrong, but I want to get to fixing it as soon as possible. So, without a word, I draw him into my arms and hold him. His arms lock around my waist and he hugs me back needily. His voice watery, Justin apologises, "I'm sorry to show up like this."

"Don't be," I say, stroking his hair. "It's okay. Come inside, tell me what's going on."

I sit him down next to the coffee table and cover him with a blanket, half for warmth, half for comfort. Justin scrubs at his eyes and explains, as I go about gathering feel-better supplies, that he had a run-in with Craig. Shit. It's strange, hearing Justin refer to his father like that. Part of me is glad, because Craig Taylor is a horrible excuse for a parent and doesn't deserve Justin's love. Another part of me feels deeply saddened, because there's something flimsy about the way Justin says _Craig_ ; it's like he's not used to it yet, like he can't quite believe it's come to this. I want to bundle him up in a big hug, but right now my hands are full. I've collected a bottle of whiskey from my top cabinet and a big glass. If there's one thing I'm sure of right now, it's that Justin needs a nice, strong drink.

As I pour it for him, he pours his heart out, spilling out a whole slew of horrible details about the encounter. The only time he stops is to hold his glass out, pleading with me to top him up. I indulge him a few times before cutting him off. I stash the bottle in the kitchen and hunt for something else for him to binge on. I'm going to hazard a guess that when Brian asked me to be careful with Justin, he didn't envisage me letting Justin give himself alcohol poisoning. I know Justin has a pretty high tolerance for hard liquor, but still; I don't think getting wasted is going to help him all that much right now.

"I actually walked him to his car," Justin exclaims, the words trembling with bitter laughter. "Why did I do that? What did I think was going to happen?"

He waves his nearly-empty glass of whiskey at me. "I'll tell you what I thought would happen. On some level, on some  _stupid_ level, I thought: maybe he's ready to give me a chance. I saw him calling Molly 'honey' and wishing her a happy Christmas, and I thought  _maybe_ he'd offer me the same. That's why I followed him to his car. Fucking hell, I'm so stupid."

"Hey, that's my best friend you're talking about." I give him a look. Justin smiles weakly and downs the last of his whiskey. I walk back over to him and pry the glass out of his hand. He barely notices; he's just staring at the floor dismally. I place a tub of icecream and a spoon in front of him and urge, "Eat. It'll help."

He glares sullenly at it, then picks up the spoon and devours a huge scoop of it. Then another. Then he drops the spoon on the table, sighing miserably. I sit down next to him and curl up with him under the blanket. With a grimace, Justin confesses, "I don't get how I'm supposed to be a good dad to Gus when I'm so completely fucked up."

A small burst of laughter escapes me - I can't help it. I immediately regret it; Justin looks wounded. I cuddle him closer. "I'm sorry."

"It's not funny," he sulks. "I'm a total fucking wreck."

"Whereas Brian is the very picture of emotional stability. And Mel and Linz? Total saints." Heaping on an extra layer of sarcasm, I tease, "You're way out of your depth, what with all these perfect people around. How will you ever measure up?"

His face flinches into a reluctant smile. "You know what I mean."

"What I know," I say, very gently, "Is that you are way too hard on yourself. You always have been." 

Justin shrugs. Searching for ways to comfort him, I take his hand in mine. He sighs and rests his head on my shoulder. Very softly, I say, "You need to go easier on yourself. You know I love how ambitious you are, but the flip side to that seems to be that you're always pushing yourself. It's not fair."

He swallows and turns away slightly, angling his face so that it's hidden from me. I thread my fingers through his hair and cradle his head, gently urging him closer to me again. He sighs and relents, burying his face in the plush woolen turtleneck of my sweater. I stroke his hair and work up the urge to talk him through this. I don't know why it seems so daunting - Justin and I talk about anything and everything. I wouldn't think of anything as off-limits between us. Then again, we've never talked about this before - not really. Not properly. Not in the way I'd like to. I know he even avoids talking about this stuff with Brian and that, on occasion, Brian's attempts to prompt discussion have resulted in fights. I hope that doesn't happen now. I don't want to fight with Justin. Now that he's living in New York, I only get to see him a handful of times a year and it doesn't seem worth it to spend that time arguing.

But it also _really_ doesn't seem worth it to let him go on wallowing like this. It's not even just wallowing - he's at risk of drowning right now, I can see it in his anguished expression. There are things that need to be said. I'm just going to have to bite the bullet. Besides, he's exhausted right now; I doubt he has any fight left in him. Maybe we'll get through this unscathed.

So, gently, I talk to him. I remind him of all the times I've watched him push himself, and push himself, and push himself. I theorise that if he'd actually been _physically_ pushing himself, he'd have been left bruised and battered by his insistent attempts. I recall, years ago, him showing up at my apartment at 2am and asking to stay the night. He looked like shit; his eyes were reddened like they are now, his hair was falling in his face, and he was shaking - just slightly, little tremors rippling from his elbows to his wrists. Once I got him inside, he confessed to having woken screaming from a nightmare, terrifying Ethan, who was predictably useless at helping Justin through it. They fought, Justin left for the night, and he came to me, on the verge of a meltdown. We sat up for hours, much like we are now, his head on my shoulder, cuddled close. In between brutal crying jags, he would beat himself up relentlessly, lamenting, "Why can't I get over it already?"

"It hadn't even been a year," I remind him, as he sighs heavily, "And you were guilt-tripping yourself for not being over it."

"I'm still not," he whispers, the admission thick with guilt. "I still get triggered. It happened today. I don't know why-"

"You do know why," I say, quietly but firmly. "That psycho Hobbs attacked you and very nearly killed you. Your father rejected you and treated you like shit. Those are both horrible, terrifying things that happened to you, Justin. You can't expect to rid yourself of the trauma in record time."

I can feel his tears wetting my sweater. As they trickle down my arm, I tilt my head and kiss the top of his. "It's time to divide and conquer. Your ambition is awesome - it's one of the best parts of you, but it doesn't need to be... it  _can't_ be all-encompassing. You want to push yourself to be a great artist? That's great. You want to push yourself to be a good dad to Gus? I'm with you one thousand percent. But you need to stop pushing yourself to 'get over' what those sick fucks did to you."

He gulps, likely trying to hold more tears at bay. I kiss his head and murmur, "Look at me."

Justin tilts his head up and stares at me, his eyes damp, his face worn. It hurts to see him like this. Swallowing back tears of my own, I whisper, "I am so proud of you. You've come so far. Give yourself credit for that, and figure out how to move forward from here.  _Don't_ beat yourself up because you're not totally trauma-free. You're never going to be. It's impossible."

"I know," he says, somewhat reluctantly. He blinks rapidly, inhaling and exhaling carefully. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise."

"What is this, the seven thousandth time I've come running to you to sob on your shoulder?" He nods his head at the clock on the wall. "How much sleep have you lost because of me?"

"A lot," I laugh. "You're a fucking handful."

He chuckles weakly. It's a miserable sound - maybe he wasn't ready for jokes quite yet. I wipe the tears from his face and ask, "If something ever happened to me... if someone hurt me, where would you be?"

"Right here," Justin says, instantly and insistently. "Or wherever you were. Wherever you needed me to be."

I shrug at him. "There you have it. This is what best friends are for."

He smiles -  _really_ smiles, enough that it lights up his entire face. "I love you, Daph."

"I love you, too." As he buries his face in my sweater again, I rest my head atop his. "We should get you home. Gus will want to see you when he wakes up."

At that, he grins - I can feel it stretching across his face, pressed against me in a big, happy curve. Any mention of Gus always puts him in a good mood. I nudge him. "Have you eaten anything?"

"Icecream," he mumbles.

"What, all two spoonfuls? You know, we're getting older. We can't subsist on icecream alone like we used to." I stand up and pull him up along with me. "Let's go grab take-out and then I'll take you back to your mom's."

Justin nods and goes to grab his coat. As he tugs it on, he asks, "Will you come stay? The guest bedroom is free. Mel and Linz are at Ben and Michael's."

"I won't be getting in the way?"

"No," he laughs. "In fact, you'll be saving me. Brian made me promise I'd help with the gift-wrapping tomorrow. He's gone insane - there are, like, fifty million presents we have to wrap. Please help?"

"Sure," I agree, smiling at him. "I'm in the mood for some Christmas cheer."

Justin snorts. "There's Christmas cheer, and then there's  _Christmas cheer._ Just wait, you'll see what I mean."

*

After our very late dinner, we head back to Jennifer's and sneak inside. It's way late and the house is dark. I follow Justin upstairs and, after he's deposited my overnight bag in the guest room, hug him goodnight. 

"You okay?" I whisper, rocking him back and forth a little.

He squeezes me tight. "I will be."

As we break out of our embrace, Brian emerges from Justin's room, looking twice as exhausted as Justin does. Poor Brian - if I'm hurting seeing Justin like this, he must be in agony. With a soft smile, Justin kisses him, then whispers goodnight to me and disappears into his room. I smile at Brian and mouth  _he'll be okay._ Brian nods, smiling at me gratefully. He steps closer, touches my cheek, then kisses my forehead. I curl an arm around him and hug him. Brian returns it with zeal. Holding me close, he asks softly, "You're sticking around, right?"

I glance up at him. I think he's asking for him as much as he is for Justin. I'd like to think as much, anyway, since Brian is my second favourite person of all time; I want to be here for him as much as I want to be here for Justin. I give him my very best smile. "No place I'd rather be."


	13. Justin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Christmas Eve arrives, Justin and Gus are both feeling better. Justin is relieved to return to normalcy and enjoys gift-wrapping with Brian and Daphne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks go to my friend Rody (addicted_to_bedward) for all of her support and help as I've been writing this :)
> 
> This is the final chapter of Fatherhood. I intend to follow it up soon with some more Gus-centric stories! For now though, I hope you enjoy this final part :)

"Jus.  _Jus."_

I wake up to Gus sitting on my stomach and poking my nose. As I open my eyes and peer at him blearily, he grins at me. He looks good as new. I tickle his side lazily and murmur, "Someone's feeling better."

"Nanna Jen fixed me," he says, squirming away from my tickling but beaming nonetheless. "She made me yummy teas and grilled cheesies, and she read to me  _all night._ I feel a billion percent better."

"Hallelujah." I smile at him, but my eyes begin to drift closed again. Gus pokes my chest firmly.

"Daddy and Daphne said you have to get up. They said to come up here and tell you to stop being a lazybones."

"Is that what they said, or is that what you're saying?"

" _They_ said it," Gus exclaims, his jaw dropping in outrage. "They said it! I wouldn't say that to you! Ask Nanna Jen. Daddy and Daphne told me to tell you to 'get your lazy butt out of bed' - except daddy almost used a bad word so Daphne smacked him - and then Nanna Jen told them to be nice so they changed it to 'stop being such a lazybones'. Nanna Jen and I didn't like that one either, but they made me promise I'd say it because it would get you out of bed."

"They're bullies," I grumble. "Go and tell them that."

"Nuh-uh," Gus refuses, shaking his head. "They're wrapping my presents and you need to go and help them. That's more important than sleep."

"Isn't Santa bringing your presents?"

Huffing, Gus rolls his eyes. Speaking to me as though I'm the six-year-old in the room, he explains slowly and simply, "Justin, Santa is _so not_ real. Duh!"

Feigning shock, I goggle at him and ask, "Really?"

"Ruby's moms told her so, and then Ruby told me." Gus straightens up and smiles, practically glowing with pride. "My moms said I have to keep it top secret. J.R. is still a silly baby and she believes he's real."

"J.R. is not a silly baby," I scold lazily. "Don't be mean about your sister."

This throws him into a fit of outrage. Scowling, Gus begins to protest loudly, "But she-"

"How would you like it if I called Molly a silly baby?" I raise my eyebrows at him. "What would you think of that, huh?"

Gus purses his lips and sighs irritably. "I suppose I wouldn't like it."

"Okay, so let's trade: you be nice about J.R. and I'll be nice about Molly, and everyone will be happy."

 _"Fine,"_ Gus agrees sourly. Clearly displeased with this agreement, he pulls a face at me and grouches, "Get out of bed, lazybones."

He tries to spring off me but I grab him and tickle him until he's shrieking with laughter. Then I toss him over my shoulder and go to find Brian and Daph.

We find them in mom's room. They're sitting on the bed together, side-by-side against the headboard, surrounded by shopping bags and gift-wrapping materials. Brian is wrapping the presents and Daph is carefully covering them in glistening lengths of ribbon. I set Gus down outside the door and tell him to go and help mom and Molly with the cooking, but he plonks himself down on the floor. Stubbornly, he announces, "I'm staying here. I want to see what my presents are."

"Good luck with that, Sonny Boy," Brian calls. He nods at me and instructs, "Close the door and lock it."

"But daddy-!"

"Sorry, kiddo," I say, ruffling Gus' hair. He scowls at me and crosses his arms over his chest, clearly intent on staying stationed outside the door. "See you later."

He splutters in outrage as I close the door and fix the latch. There's a sudden rush of shuffling; I'm betting he's cozied up to the door so he can listen in. I smile at Brian and Daph. "Where do you need me?"

"You can label the gifts," Daph suggests brightly. I sit down on the foot of the bed and cross my legs. Daph hands me a packet of Sharpies. "We figured you could give them an artistic touch."

"Cool." I eye the stacks of presents next to me and the shopping bags piled up next to Brian. "Shit, how many are there?"

Daph gives Brian a look and mutters, "A fuck of a lot."

He shrugs. "The kid was good this year, what can I say?"

I open my mouth to point out that Gus is  _always_ good (for the most part), but Daphne shakes her head at me and mouths  _don't bother._ I shrug at her and pick up the first present on the stack and start filling in the label with curling lettering. As I work my way through the stack, Daph grabs her iPod and switches on her Christmas playlist.

Brian wrinkles his nose and looks at her judgmentally. "Must we?"

"Yes, we must," she says, turning up the volume. "I'm going to end up with calloused fingers because of your nutso shopping spree and your perfectionism where gift-wrapping is concerned - the very least you could do is let me play Christmas songs."

As Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer starts playing, Brian gags. Outside the door, Gus starts singing along. The three of us almost burst out laughing but manage to stifle it just in time. Covering hers with a cough, Daph calls, "Nice singing, Gussy!"

"Thanks!" He hollers back, then resumes singing.

It doesn't take me long to work my way through the stack of presents. As I wait for another one, I tap my hands on my knees. "Daph, hurry up with the ribbon already."

"Don't rush me!" She finishes curling it and hands me the present, now perfectly decorated with curling ribbons in gold and green. "I'm taking my time because  _someone_ has impossibly high standards where gift-wrapping is concerned."

We both give Brian a look. He ignores us and starts wrapping gift number six thousand and seventy eight. I focus on writing Gus' name on the present Daph has just handed over. This time, I write it in big, ballooning bubble letters, the kind Gus favours when he labels his belongings. As I colour in the letters, I glance up at Brian and Daph. They're both acting totally normal, as though I didn't have a huge sobfest over my asshole father yesterday. I couldn't be more grateful. It's hardly surprising, though - the two of them always know what I need, and right now, what I need is normalcy. I lift up the present and show the lettering to Brian; he smiles and nods approvingly. Meanwhile, the song switches to Holly Jolly Christmas. A knock sounds at the door and Gus yells, "I don't know this one!"

"Then you can learn it," Daph calls back. 

I grin at her. "Good job. You'd make a great mom."

She shudders dramatically. "Ew, don't even start with me. I'm not even nearly ready. I'm quite content being an aunty for now, thank you very much."

"Okay, just saying." I grab the next present from her and attack it with the gold Sharpie.

Daph nudges my foot with hers. "Anyway, what did you get Molly this year?"

"A necklace," I say, grabbing my phone to show Daph the picture I took in the shop. It's a gold chain with a pendant shaped like a lolly, since mom and I used to call her Baby Lolly when she was little. "Do you think she'll like it?"

Daph smiles at me. "I think she'll love it. It's gorgeous!"

"Good. You're better at this big sibling stuff than I am."

"Am not," Daph laughs. "Molly adores you  _way_ more than she adores me."

Brian perks up and peers at Daph with intrigue. "You think of Molly as a sister?"

She nods heartily. "Of course. I always wanted a kid sister. Justin was kind enough to share his."

"Does that mean you consider Justin a brother?"

"I guess," Daph says, somehow totally unaware of the trap she's wandering into. I shake my head at Brian, knowing full well where he's headed with this, but he ignores me.

Brian smirks. "Except for that one time you two fucked, right?"

I kick his leg. "Brian!"

Daph groans. "Do you have to bring that up  _every single time_ I see you?"

"Asshole," I admonish. Brian simply grins at me, looking incredibly self-satisfied. "Gus is right outside!"

We all glance towards the closed door, but it would seem that Gus is preoccupied with memorising the lyrics to Holly Jolly Christmas. Sighing with relief, Daph grabs her iPod and turns the volume up even higher. Throwing a terse look Brian's way, she implores, "Can we please forget that  _that_ ever happened?"

"Unlikely," he laughs.

I'm slightly thrown. "Wait, what? Why does it need to be forgotten?"

"Well, it hardly needs to be remembered," Daph says. She narrows her eyes at Brian and adds grouchily, "Especially not  _constantly."_

"I'll admit that certain people," I glance pointedly at Brian, "Seem to bring it up far too frequently, but I hardly think we need to forget about it entirely."

Smirking once more, Brian asks sweetly, "Is there a problem, Sunshine?"

"I don't see why it needs to be stricken from the record, that's all." I shrug at Daphne. "You said I was good."

Daph sighs wearily and reaches over to pat my knee. "You were good, honey. It was fine."

I'm trying really hard not to care but that _really_ rubs me the wrong way. "Fine? Excuse me - I was _fine_?"

"You're a fag," Brian says, rolling his eyes. "What does it matter?"

"Will you get back to wrapping your litany of presents?" I give him another look - a more severe one, this time - and then refocus my attention on Daph. "I want to know - was I good or was I fine? There's a big difference."

"Oh my god," Daph groans. She closes her eyes for a moment, as though she's summoning the strength to deal with my admittedly inane line of questioning, and then opens them and says carefully, "You were good at the time. It was nice. But I've had...  _better_ experiences since, so purely by comparison, I would now say that what we had was more 'fine' than 'good'."

She elbows Brian to try to stop him from laughing, but it does absolutely no good. He takes one look at me and laughs even harder. Daph elbows him again, then says kindly to me, "It really doesn't matter."

"It really doesn't," Brian agrees, still laughing like the asshole he is. "It's hardly a skillset that's relevant to you. So quit it with the puppy dog eyes, Sunshine."

"No, you're right." I sit up and focus on labelling the next present. "I get what you mean, Daph."

"Good," she exhales, sounding relieved. 

"I guess I thought my first time was good. But compared to experiences since, I'd probably downgrade it to 'fine' as well."

Brian's head snaps up. Pinning me with an outraged glare, he says in a scarily quiet voice, "Excuse me?"

"You've improved a lot since then, Bri," I reply, smiling sweetly at him. It's immensely satisfying to see his jaw drop, if only for a second before he closes his mouth. I can see he's torn between being openly pissed off and pretending not to care. I reach across and pat his knee. "Don't worry. It was only the first time."

Brian takes my hand and removes it from his knee. He only touches it for a moment before dropping it, dramatically, like it's putrid. Condescendingly, I ask, "Is something wrong?"

"Our first time," he says, quite forcefully, "Was  _great,_ and you fucking well know it was great."

I shrug. "It was alright."

He glowers at me, incensed. I smile at him and return nonchalantly to the task at hand. But just as I'm thinking I've won that round, Daph snorts and exclaims, "You are _so_ full of shit, Justin."

I glance up at her and she raises her eyebrows at me. It's then that I know I'm fucked. Grinning, Daph turns to Brian and confides, "The morning after your so-called 'alright' first time, he told me he'd just seen 'the face of God'."

"Daphne!" I snap, mortified. "You are such a filthy traitor!"

She shrugs and smiles at me without so much as a hint of apology. Having ceased fuming, Brian now looks utterly gleeful. "He said  _what?"_

"He said," Daph explains, giggling, " _I just saw the face of God. His name is Brian Kinney."_

I swear, I have never seen such a big smile on Brian's face. He looks utterly euphoric. He directs it at me, and I watch it grow as my face heats. "Why, Sunshine, how very sweet of you."

"I hate you," I mutter. I glare at Daph. "I hate bothof you."

They laugh dismissively.

"I always suspected that my...  _lovemaking,"_ Brian smirks at me pointedly, "Was godlike."

Daph, the traitor, laughs even harder.

"Your ego is fucking godlike," I grouse, tossing a wrapped present at him. He catches it effortlessly and adds it to the stack of finished gifts.

Another knock sounds at the door, but this time it doesn't sound like Gus. It sounds again and Mel calls, "It's me and Linz, can we come in?"

I jump up and unlock the door, then open it slightly. They're waiting outside with Gus in tow. I point at him. "You. Downstairs, now."

He stomps his foot and pouts. "But I learnt Holly Jolly and I already know the presents aren't from Santa and-"

"Gus," Mel says firmly. "Downstairs. Do as your father says."

Hearing her say that gives me a quick headrush. I grin at her, hugely grateful, and she winks at me. She then adds, "Your presents can wait until tomorrow, kiddo. Run along."

Gus is less enthusiastic. He glowers at Mel and says icily, "You disgust me."

He continues to glare at her as she rounds on him, but Mel's resolve is far stronger than his. Obviously realising he's in deep trouble, Gus turns and bolts down the hallway then practically vaults down the stairs. As soon as he's gone, Mel laughs. "That look always gets him."

"Let's talk presents," Linz suggests, stepping past me into mom's room. "Oh... oh, my."

She balks at the sight of the presents, then does a double-take at the sight of the shopping bags that Brian still has yet to empty. Mel steps in and goes bug-eyed.

"Jesus Christ, it's like consumerism exploded in here." Mel shakes her head at Brian. "If you think we're bringing all of this back to Toronto..."

"That's where Gus lives, isn't it?" He deadpans. "Where else would Sonny Boy take his presents?"

"Brian," Linz groans, visibly drooping.  _  
_

"What even is all of this shit?" Mel demands, picking up a present and rattling it.

"Legos," Daph says, smiling sympathetically at the two of them.

Linz sighs and covers her face with her hands. Through them, she moans, "I would have accepted literally any other answer."

"Steel drums?" Brian snarks. "A Mustang?"

They ignore his smarmy remarks. Linz drags her hands down her face and groans, "Do you have any goddamned idea how hard it is to store Lego?"

"Really fucking hard," Mel answers grouchily. She turns to me and says desperately, "Justin, you're supposed to stop this kind of shit from happening."

"How was I to know?" I sit back down on the bed and resume labelling. "I'm new to this whole parenting racket." 

As he begins to wrap gift nine thousand and eighty nine, Brian asks innocently, "Isn't this what you munchers excel at? Home storage solutions?"

He smiles brightly at them and suggests, "Take a nice, dykey day trip to IKEA and all will be well in the world."

Before Mel has the chance to crash tackle Brian, I jump in and suggest, "Why don't we tell Gus that he needs to organise the collection? He can choose what stays in Pittsburgh, what goes to Toronto, and what goes to New York. Mom won't mind keeping some here, and we have plenty of room to keep some of this stuff."

I jump up and grab a fresh packet of green post-its out of the desk mom has by the window. "Here, we'll wrap these up and give them to him last, and tell him to label it all. He'll like organising all of it, plus it'll keep him busy tomorrow."

As I chuck the packet at Brian to wrap, I find them all staring at me with some semblance of awe. Daph smiles at me and says, "You are so adorable."

"Shut up, Daph," I laugh, flipping her off.

"Good thinking, honey," Mel says, squeezing my arm as I drop back down onto the bed. 

Linz sits down next to me and wraps her arm around me, then kisses my cheek. Squeezing me tight, she asks softly, "What would we do without you?"

*

On Christmas morning, I wake up to Gus tugging on my t-shirt and whispering, "Justin, Justin, Justin, Justin,  _J-U-S-T-I-N."_ _  
_

"Good spelling," I murmur, reluctantly opening one eye. It's so early it's not even light out yet. Gus is still draped over Brian, his head resting on Brian's chest. They've been lying like that all night. His big blue eyes are pinned on me. "What time is it?"

Gus lifts his head slightly and peers at the clock behind me. "Five twenty-two."

"Five twenty-two," I laugh, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. "That sounds like time for sleeping."

I shut my eyes tight, hoping he gets the hint. He doesn't.

"It sounds like time for..." Gus starts pummelling his fists on the mattress in an impressive drumroll. With a huge grin, he sings out, "Christmaaaaas! Happy Christmas, Jus."

"Happy Christmas, kiddo." I bump my finger against the tip of his nose. "Let's celebrate by sleeping a little longer."

Gus giggles and rolls off of Brian, coming to lie on his side facing me. "Now you really are being a lazybones."

Brian groans and rolls onto his side, wrapping his arms snugly around Gus. His eyes still closed, he murmurs, "Go back to sleep, kiddo. It's not Christmas just yet."

"It is so!"

"Is not," Brian and I reply in unison. Brian peeks one eye open and I grin at him.

"It. Is. Christmas," Gus insists huffily. "Let's get up! We can have cocoa and eat the gingerbread men, or make snow angels, or open PRESENTS, or-"

"Sleep?"

_"Justin!"_

I wriggle in closer to them and kiss Gus' forehead. "Holidays are made for sleeping in."

"Holidays are made for holidaying," he protests, squirming unhappily. He tugs on my t-shirt. "Come  _on,_ Jus. Please?"

"Let Sunshine sleep," Brian chides drowsily, mere moments before he slumps against Gus. He's clearly out for the count. I press my finger to my lips, signalling for Gus to keep quiet. Gus sighs and nods.

The silence lasts for all of thirty seconds before Gus starts tugging on my shirt again and pleading, "Jus?  _Jus?"_

"Yes?"

With great urgency, he asks, "Do you remember what I asked for this Christmas?"

"I promise, we all had a very good look at your list."

"I don't mean the list," Gus says, shaking his head. "I mean what I asked for before all of that."

He pokes my nose and whispers, "I asked for you to be my dad."

I smile at him. "Oh, yeah."

"And you said yes," he continues, grinning from ear to ear. 

"And I said yes." I kiss his cheek and snuggle even closer. "How's that working out for you?"

"It's the best," Gus says. He grabs my hand and holds it to his chest. "You're an amazing dad."

I squeeze my hand around his. "You're an amazing son."

He turns pink and grins impossibly big. Poking my nose thrice to punctuate his words, he says emphatically, "I. Love. You."

"I love you, too." I notice Brian smiling against Gus' shoulder and bump our knees together under the sheets. He bumps me right back.

Clasping my hand more snugly to his chest, Gus says softly, "You know what?"

"What?"

"Because I love you _so_ much, I'm going to let you have five more minutes of sleep."

He says this like it's the most outlandishly generous offering in the world. Laughing, I repeat, "Five more minutes? That's all I get?"

"Yeah."

"How very generous of you."

Gus giggles. "It  _is_ very generous. Five more minutes and then...  _Christmas!!!"_

"Okay," I yawn, tucking right in close to him and Brian. "Five more minutes."

I close my eyes, ready to indulge in five more minutes of slumber before our first Christmas together as father and son begins. The last thing I feel before I doze off is Gus kissing the heart of my palm, and then I hear him say what Brian always says to him before bedtime: "Sleep tight, Jus. I love you very much."

It may only last five minutes, but it feels like the soundest sleep I've ever had. And even though holidays are intended for sleeping in, I think I'll survive this ridiculously early wake up call for Gus' sake. It is our first Christmas as father and son, after all, and I'd do anything for him. That's the kind of father I'd like to be: one like Brian, one who loves Gus limitlessly and does whatever it takes to let him know how truly amazing he is. Yeah. That's the kind of father Gus deserves, and that's what I'm going to strive to give him for the rest of our lives.

**The End**


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